A Plateful of Our Dead

Don't ever ask us to define our morals

Sometimes when fundamentals meet teenage heartbreak

Some of us are all of us half-selves that love whole hopes

And hara-kiri heartbreak

There's almost nothing worse than never being real

Strained voices crying wolf when nobody can hear

If I had a gun, l'd pump your ethics full of lead

If I believed in meat, l'd eat a plateful of our dead

There's merit in destruction when it's done with your own hands

There's beauty in construction, resurrection, another chance

There's a you and

I in union but just an

I in our beliefs

There's a crashing plane with a banner that reads everyone's native

The only proof that

I have that we shot and killed this horse

Is the sounds of whips on flesh and a bleeding heart remorse

The only proof that

I have that we shot and killed this horse

And a bleeding heart

When l'm in this state of reflection and you hand me whips

And two by fours,

I could never bring them down, bring them down

Bring them down and beat the same horse as before

Bring them down, as before

I'd rather kill a stupid flower and spread its seeds

Until a garden with our bullet laden morals will be found

I'd rather kill a stupid flower and spread its seeds

Until a garden with our bullet laden morals will be found, will be found