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Hot Cross
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Turncoat Revolution
Behold the youth, come down the pipe
All worked up, all spent up, all faces turned up
Overdone
I never met a traitor I didn't like
Never criticized a turncoat written off in spite
Caught up on robbing Peter to pay Paul
Obsessively stabbing Achilles to kill it all
Jump on board and feel what I've confessed
The small bus is leaving and will never be blessed
Pissed up the same flagpole once too many times
Blood on my shoes makes light of death and we mock the crime
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Behold the youth. Sad again
Hair all fucked, with black eyes but untouched
Behold my own part. Unaware of where we start
But you've given up on giving back, and frankly I miss your heart
But I could care less, I behold their resources
They get so far, and cause so much stress
Behold our turncoat revolution that's doomed
Step one, a step undone
Behold our lifelong manifesto of failure assumed
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