ASHES IN THE FALL by Zack De La Rocha

A mass of hands press on the market window
Ghosts of progress
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 rivers water while
Shackled to the 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
This is the new sound, just like the old sound
Just like the noose wound, over new ground

Listen to the fascist sing
"Take hope here
War is elsewhere
You were chosen
This is Gods land
Soon we'll be free
Of blot and mixture
Seeds planted by our Forefathers 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 the stones now
Sharpened on suffering
And woven into the 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 new ground
Ain't the new sound, just like the old sound
Look at the noose now over the burning ground

Ain't it funny how the factory 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 factory 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

Like ashes in the fall