Blood on a wall is
Maybe not, maybe not, maybe, maybe, not.
The tilted hat flew into
The open space of
The modern man and he sang:
"Nay, fair ones, this is as it is,
That is, it is how it should be:
As it is, and no other way.
For too long the farce has been carried out.
For too long, acceptance has been too easy.
What are we? Are we faceless in the sight of danger?
Are we not men? Are we yes-men?
I tell you that this farce has been carried out for too long.
The world cannot be at peace without rebellion!
We must have it, there is no other way about it!
Without rebellion, what are we?
We are perfect, and perfect is too good a thing to have.
This is as it is, as it should be, and it should be no other way.
No, I tell you! We must have it another way!
So long as there is screaming and yelling, and war and poverty, life is good!
We must have someone to pity, someone to look down upon, someone to look up to!"
He sang his song for the years
And for the years people listened and did not hear.
Without the spirit, the body cannot be imperfect,
Which makes it perfect,
Which makes it devoid of problems,
Which we simply cannot have.