The Land Of Living

There are those who are silent,
yet who talk all of the time
Their faces never really show
the way their quiet footsteps go.
And when I greet them,
my mask is just the same.
I put no trust in the crooked and the lame.

If you want to walk,
just get up on your feet.
And if you want to talk, just open up your mouth and speak.
What is the ugly secret that you cherish in your heart?
The truth you can't stand,
that drives you from the land,
of the living?
The land of the living.

A smile is not a friednship,
and those heart-felt words are cheap.
They are as shallow as a puddle in the street.
Like the tear drops that you shed
for the humble and the weak,
as you float over their bodies,
to the promised land you seek,
where there is no one to ask you
who you are or what you've done.
You're a face without a name,
with nothing to explain.

Oh, the dead who walk among us,
what they take they don't give back.
See their hollow smiling faces as they ride upon the backs
of the living.
The land of the living

Addition and subtraction is a cold and sober art,
but there is no place for taking stock in matters of the heart.
Either you are genuine,
or you are not.
Inflated with self-righteousness,
afloat upon the wind,
but for all your bloated virtues,
I wouldn't give a sin.
My allegiance is to those who are alive,
those who wear it on their sleeve,
who do not run and do not hide.
Foolish little monkeys,
playing in the land
of the living.
The land of the living.