i always swore i would never write a political song, but i guess i must admit this one has overtones. ah well.

when all the flags return to the ground
colors bleeding as we wring them out
we will hang our heads, for beneath our skin
Stockholm had ripped apart our limbs
well I saw your name on an oil can
resting sadly on a tanker's back
and while the asphalt groaned and tried to hold its shape
the ground beneath was screaming out in pain

and it smelt of rain just above the ground
clinging to the clouds
we were sputtering out, it was a terrible sound
a post-modern war drum

it's a candidate, a highway crime
a ballot punched down the party line
is it red or blue that bleeds through you?
a sweeping disease, and yeah, you've got it, too
because I saw your name on an empty grave
the dirt was broken just yesterday
now there's a petty thief at the podium
he's moving his lips, he's beating the drum

and though it fills our lungs and turns them grey,
we refuse to back away
because we hate the taste, but we love the way
that it makes us feel for part of the day