florence and the machine – Falling scritto da admin 19 Gennaio 2016 A mass of hands press on the market window Ghosts of progess Dressed in slow death Feeding on hunger And glaring through the promise Upon the food that rots slowly in the aisle A mass of nameless at the oasis That hides the graves beneath the master’s hill Are buried for drinking The river’s water While shackled to the line At the empty well This is the new sound Just like the old sound just like the noose wound Over the new ground Listen to the facist sing “Take hope here War is elsewhere You were chosen This is god’s land Soon we’ll be free Of blot and mixture Seeds planted by our Forefather’s hand” A mass of promises Begin to rupture Like the pockets Of the new world kings Like swollen stomachs In Appalachia Like the priest that fucked you As he whispered holy things A mass of tears have transformed to stones now Sharpened on suffering And woven into slings Hope lies in the rubble of this rich fortress Taking today what tomorrow never brings This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound Over the new ground Ain’t the new sound Just like the old sound Look at the noose now Over the, Over the, Over the burning ground Ain’t it funny how the factories doors close Round the time that the school doors close Round the time that the doors of the jail cells Open up to greet you like the reaper Ain’t it funny how the factories doors close Round the time that the school doors close Round the time that a hundred thousand jail cells Open up to greet you like the reaper This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound Over the new ground Like ashes in the fall