This is about bronies. They communicate by stomping.
your little pink houses are packed too tight
built in rows to trap you in
living made for dying, for giving in
in this town authority always wins
like 97 crosses on the courthouse yard
where you're taught to fear Jesus and the wrath of god
yeah, there's nowhere else, you're not missing a thing
houses built like coffins to bury us in
to live and die in this small town
I smell main street burning down
let me know when you've had enough
let me know when the thrill of living is gone
the grass is always greener on the right hand side
the place they plow us under when we've all died
all those crazy dreams they came and went
hope, happiness, dignity, respect
this is not a pretty thing, no grace in giving in
no sweetness in surrender, no romance in dying slow
count the winnder and the losers like they're people you know
empty eyes and sentiment, yeah, it ain't no big deal
they pump your gas and catch your bullets
they're almost seeming real
the bible belt won't save your soul
and life does no just go on
400 acres couldn't bury them, like 97 crosses on the courthouse lawn
no more James Dean
no more life goes on
rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
built in rows to trap you in
living made for dying, for giving in
in this town authority always wins
like 97 crosses on the courthouse yard
where you're taught to fear Jesus and the wrath of god
yeah, there's nowhere else, you're not missing a thing
houses built like coffins to bury us in
to live and die in this small town
I smell main street burning down
let me know when you've had enough
let me know when the thrill of living is gone
the grass is always greener on the right hand side
the place they plow us under when we've all died
all those crazy dreams they came and went
hope, happiness, dignity, respect
this is not a pretty thing, no grace in giving in
no sweetness in surrender, no romance in dying slow
count the winnder and the losers like they're people you know
empty eyes and sentiment, yeah, it ain't no big deal
they pump your gas and catch your bullets
they're almost seeming real
the bible belt won't save your soul
and life does no just go on
400 acres couldn't bury them, like 97 crosses on the courthouse lawn
no more James Dean
no more life goes on
rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow
Lyrics submitted by kijima
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