Ghost Healers And Stockholders

this place is a wasteland
asphalt grows under us like grass
beauty hiding in cracks you wish you'd stumble in

monorail disposal culture
crushes voices in the wilderness
truth set for one pace

lip service to the worlds superpowers
multinational death squads and stock markets
keep the beat on for the mechanics of lives lost...

cutting moments to little pieces
our traumas lie on the brink of a dying dream
and somewhere in the middle dignity dies

fight back free will