My mouth is full of your inspiration Cut me, size me down for
your regulation Nothing stands so close to driving Nothing gets
tense or biting Nothing stands in the way It's all right Your

walls are still white Location is everything, or so it seems
Writing down all your "wrongs" or "rights" In a book you call
your own Stand down Silence kills the revolution All that

remains stagnant Dies submission is your resolve They've given
you all the calls Sucker punched again Blind... blind... blin