I wanted the flash flood
I wanted the kind bud
I wanted everything on a platter
did I think it would matter
I wanted a three minute revelation
I wanted to trace out every station
of the cross in the road
and all it might forebode
I’m sick of the flash flood
I’m sick of the taste of my blood
I’ve been down the path and every fork
I’ve been over a barrel stuffed with pork
and here’s the holy end of it
they’ll try to make you bend to fit
their mediocre master plan
the curse of the everyman
You can read an explanation of the origin of these lyrics here
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