We signed up for the chore. Made it all for you. Wise up,
you can’t live that down.
And the vultures on the cutting room floor make their
voices symbiotic.
'Standards! Standards!'
Falsetto in the morning meets your tenor in the falling
down.
It’s all been done. You can’t kill the truth.
Standards make your voice symbiotic.
You helped to write this falderal
But failed to falter out valetudinarianism.
End servitude and won’t pay homage to the miscreant
And so our misfeasance in no way fiat the faugh that
found us.
You’re building walls so you can moderate our principals
And so we’re forced to justify your endless criticism.
With temperate means, through repeated reprobation
We’re a martyr for a cause that never made it off the
cutting room floor.
It’s all been done. You can’t kill the truth.
Requite the sentiments and hope we fall apart.
It’s all been done. You can’t kill the truth.