| I Ask Why |
| Very little their sons they can do On the run from the hell they will face And theyâ??re beating, beating from their needs Stretched out skin, heart burns the turnkey And theyâ??re dying What you read Moments from the end And theyâ??re dying From their wine Proof that theyâ??re dead Whisper, youâ??re feeding the brain Information, what you read today Olive oil, rubbed from the trees Heard in the distance, Shotgun Memories Banner air of angelâ??s desperate wings Boy these boys can fly Brought together for the summer sing Diplomas hang from the laurels theyâ??ve achieved Every man forgets their mastery Pass the rage in their direction Shoot the coils from your veins Snap of faith with indecision Load the gun, disdain the game |