Rosecut

Lets put a match to this, a fools facade of endless bliss. Its time to let London burn, give the flames their turn. Clear the corpses that lie within the failing city walls. Lay the blame, close the chains, let nothing be the same. Fire's burn but city's souls survive.Signposts that elegantly show you the way. Pub roast on Sunday, rain on rose cut glass. This is when I feel you are worth the price we pay. But your fevers so fervent, my dear, I worry about your heart.Lets drag big brothers head, severed through the streets. Tasteless tastemakers, we'll clear you from our screens. This is the time for a new light to shine. Time to shake you, gently wake you.