She Calls Me THOR

Music:

A mass of hands pressed on the market window- ghosts of progress, dressed in slow death… Feeding on hunger and glaring through the promise, upon the food that rots slowly in the aisle… A mass of nameless at the oasis, that hides the graves beneath the master’s hill… Buried for drinking the rivers water- while shackled to the line at the empty well.This is the new sound - just like the old sound, Just like the noose wound - over the new ground.Listen to the fascist sing, ”Take hope here- War is elsewhere. You were chosen, this is god's land. Soon we’ll be free of blot and mixture… Seeds planted by our Forefather’s hand.”A mass of promises begin to rupture, Like the pockets of the new world kings, Like swollen stomachs in Appalachia, Like the priest that fucked you as he whispered holy things. A mass of tears have transformed to stones now- Sharpened on suffering, woven into slings. Hope lies in the rubble of this rich fortress, Taking today what tomorrow never brings. Is the new sound just like the old sound? Just like the noose wound over the new ground.Ain’t the new sound just like the old sound? Look at the noose now, over the burning ground.Ain’t it funny how the factory doors close, ’Round the time that the school doors close, ‘Round the time that the doors of the jail cells open up to greet you, like the reaper?This is no oasis.This is the new sound - just like the old sound… Just like the noose wound - over the new ground.-Zack de la Rocha “Ashes in the Fall”