These are not dispassionate words of the cool
The headline [bad word] the editor's a fool
Shall we douse out the flames or will everybody fuse
And leave us stranding here tomorrow
I heard a calling out. a cry from the heart
From the towns of cement and no beauty
whisper it turned howl. man he didn't know
He was standing waiting for tomorrow
Nothing's left nothing's found there must be [bad word] ground
Nothing's left nothing's found there must be [bad word] ground
I could never figure the calendars flow
Nor can i work out how the wild wind blows
But we're ready from within and we're starting to go
Away from the place of no tomorrow
Nothing's left nothing's found there must be [bad word] ground
Nothing's left nothing's found there must be [bad word] ground
Oh the wrecking fields are a terrible place.
With a sulphurous smell and a frightening pace
And the hook goes in early and the critic is king
And it's hard to stay human and stand in the ring
There's no time to be absent, a clown or a fool
While shylock is smiling we're loaded like mules
If we surrender ourselves to [bad word] We'll wake up in the wreckage of tomorrow now
Nothing's left nothing's found there must be [bad word] ground nothing's left
Something's found can we see [bad word] ground