Woorden: Bad Religion. Stranger Than Fiction. Tiny Voices.

The brown and orange sky holds its breath
As the sun retreats to the distant horizon
And our hearts palpitate anxiously as we soon will lay supine
And wait for sleep to overcome us

And from somewhere in our dark
Subconscious minds when we're asleep
Comes a haunting swirling mass of voices resonating
It screams of forgotten victims and their cries of innocence
And their desperate plea for recognition and recompense

Tiny voices
Echoes of our heritage
Our long and sallow faces turn the other way
Tiny voices
Harbored deep within
As we outwardly deny that they have something to say
And if we don't confront them, they will never go away

The billions of tiny pinhole embers fade into a morning sky
Filled with poignant morose wonder
Waking a bear a cosmetic peace that verifies the turmoil
That we carry deep inside

And from somewhere in our dark
Subconscious minds when we're asleep
Comes a haunting swirling mass of voices resonating
It screams of forgotten victims and their cries of innocence
And their desperate plea for recognition and recompense

Tiny voices
Echoes of our heritage
Our long and sallow faces turn the other way
Tiny voices
Harbored deep within
As we outwardly deny that they have something to say
And if we don't confront them, they will never go away

Go away
Go away