This song seemingly tackles the methods of deception those who manipulate others use to get victims to follow their demands, as well as diverting attention away from important issues. They'll also use it as a means to convince people to hate or kill others by pretending acts of terrorism were committed by the enemy when the acts themselves were done by the masters of control to promote discrimination and hate. It also reinforces the idea that these manipulative forces operate in various locations, infiltrating everyday life without detection, and propagate any and everywhere.
In general, it highlights the danger of hidden agendas, manipulation, and distraction, serving as a critique of those who exploit chaos and confusion to control and gain power, depicting a cautionary tale against falling into their traps. It encourages us to question the narratives presented to us and remain vigilant against manipulation in various parts of society.
Your blood owns no bones,
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
To hollow all you’re sown
And holler ‘goner, you’re owned.’
And supposing you was meant to be bent born some sort of law man,
With the poise of an intellectual and hunch of a clerk,
And disposition of a saint
And they’d say,
“he is always with cancel eye and ever correct’
And knowing that
Are you less
In the ever so complicated endeavor of a human death
There are only two species set to death on earth
The creature of choice
And the creature
Where in the human who
Are you?
S
And supposing you was meant to be bent sole keeper
Of the kilometer-long list of things certain to be so.
The human plight right there in 1’s and 0’s.
And he who knows all that’s owed
You’d think would be considerably more fearless,
Unless, of course, he feels this
Heat of something coming to adjust his
Eminence accordingly
To go on stealing poems,
From the homed armed with only a key comb
Letter opener carved from bone wish,
With which to pick
The simple levers of locks
To fly things well beyond the sky of your clock.
Your blood owns no bones,
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
To hollow all you’re sown
And holler ‘goner, you’re owned.’
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
To hollow all you’re sown
And holler ‘goner, you’re owned.’
And supposing you was meant to be bent born some sort of law man,
With the poise of an intellectual and hunch of a clerk,
And disposition of a saint
And they’d say,
“he is always with cancel eye and ever correct’
And knowing that
Are you less
In the ever so complicated endeavor of a human death
There are only two species set to death on earth
The creature of choice
And the creature
Where in the human who
Are you?
S
And supposing you was meant to be bent sole keeper
Of the kilometer-long list of things certain to be so.
The human plight right there in 1’s and 0’s.
And he who knows all that’s owed
You’d think would be considerably more fearless,
Unless, of course, he feels this
Heat of something coming to adjust his
Eminence accordingly
To go on stealing poems,
From the homed armed with only a key comb
Letter opener carved from bone wish,
With which to pick
The simple levers of locks
To fly things well beyond the sky of your clock.
Your blood owns no bones,
With mailmen in your home
Holding a knife to your poems
To hollow all you’re sown
And holler ‘goner, you’re owned.’
Lyrics submitted by Derek_Hart
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