Woorden: Zack De La Rocha. March Of Death.

I was born with the voice of a riot, a storm
lightening the function, the form, far from the norm
I won't follow like cattle, I'm more like the catalyst
calm in the mix of battle
who let the cowboy oA­n the saddle? He don't know a
missle from a gavel;
para terror troopin flippin loops of death upon innocent flesh
but I'm back in the cipher my foes and friends, witha verse and a pen
against a line I won't toe or defend, instead I curse at murderous men
in suits of professionals who act like animals
this man child, ruthless and wild
who gonna chain this beast back oA­n the leash?
this Texas furor, for sure a, compassionless con who
serve a , lethal needle to the poor, the cure for crime is murder?
on the left, left, right, left
but it's just a march of death
I read the news today, oh boy, a snap shot of a midnight ploy
vexed and powerless, devoured my hours I'm motionless with no rest
'cause a scream now holds the sky, under another high-tech driveby
a lie is a lie this God is an eagle or a condor for war nothing more
Islam peace, Islam stare into my eye brother please off our knees
to beef now we feed their disease, interlocked our hands across seas
what is a flag but a shroud out loud, and outside my window is a faceless crowd
'cause a cowering child just took her last breath, oA­n snare in the march of death
on the left, left, right, left
but it's just a march of death
here it comes the sound of terror from above
he flex his Texas twisted tongue
the poor lined up to kill in desert slums
for oil that burn beneath the desert sun
now we spit flame to flip this game
we are his targets taking aim
we're the targets taking aim
all his targets are taking aim