Letra de Implicit
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Implicit in these lives of plenty is a hurting, a venting, world of contempt
and implicit on these tongues of opinion is the sugary craving that drools its consent
Such a fertile continent, such an orchard of ferment
and implicit on these tongues of opinion is the sugary craving that drools its consent
Such a fertile continent, such an orchard of ferment
the intoxicating scent of rotting, fruity flesh
It's a garden yielding everything except anyone's contentment
If you can grow fat on the toxic harvest of this culture
You'll probably thin out on the subsequent depression that ensues
Until all of that which you come to know is malignant
just becomes a contention that you must prove.
Implicit is the ambient decay, the prancing malice of each "first world" day
and implicit is the collective shame in looks away from the TV-frame of the charade
Onscreen, the standing, clapping swine, the leaders I've been told are mine
My disbelief, they're utter pride
In teleprompted words the world declines
to even try to legitimize the reign of such fallacious mind.
There exists so much eloquence squandered on stating the obvious
and all the breath that we invest in protest of this absurd mess
is ever-outward flowing, but inward? Less and less.
May in be implicit in every movement we render that it's the aching, the tender flex of dissent
and implicit in our every action that all this anger is compassion, we're just wrung dry of patience
and this time is so urgent, and I for one must confess
that I never was content.
It's a garden yielding everything except anyone's contentment
If you can grow fat on the toxic harvest of this culture
You'll probably thin out on the subsequent depression that ensues
Until all of that which you come to know is malignant
just becomes a contention that you must prove.
Implicit is the ambient decay, the prancing malice of each "first world" day
and implicit is the collective shame in looks away from the TV-frame of the charade
Onscreen, the standing, clapping swine, the leaders I've been told are mine
My disbelief, they're utter pride
In teleprompted words the world declines
to even try to legitimize the reign of such fallacious mind.
There exists so much eloquence squandered on stating the obvious
and all the breath that we invest in protest of this absurd mess
is ever-outward flowing, but inward? Less and less.
May in be implicit in every movement we render that it's the aching, the tender flex of dissent
and implicit in our every action that all this anger is compassion, we're just wrung dry of patience
and this time is so urgent, and I for one must confess
that I never was content.
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