Protest The Hero Heretics & Killers

They called me the man with the blood of Christ honesty

But tonight (Tonight we’ll sleep as killers)

I drink with heathens and our, our finest blasphemies

(As we break the cryptic, as we break the cryptic)

In wine there’s truth but in silence there’s surrender

A screaming for the silence in stunned suspicious terror

Built a temple in my life and used God to seal the pillars

After twenty years of fighting young heretics and killers

I watch my temple fall to pieces

at the first signs of oncoming weather

Fell to my knees like

Jesus in the cave,

Jesus in the cave,

Jesus in the cave,

I knew I would die but my lips could only say;

I’m not your son, so why have you forsaken me?

There’s a hole in my heart but it just makes me unholy

Crucified that night and I walked away with alter-egos

Like the prison priest who preaches his dead and buried gospel

With my faith in ruins my duty still breathes strong

I’m a parrot in a cage just singing prayers to belong

to a textbook of my crying, lying, dying history;

a textbook of my crying, lying, dying history

a textbook of my crying

a textbook of my lying

a textbook of my dying

a textbook of my history

Protest The Hero Tongue-Splitter

Psycho therapist once claimed I had acute neurosis

Well I only said a couple words and he made his diagnosis

He said I could say whatever I want because I never chose this

So I spat, grinned, then I looked at him and I blew him a Glasgow kiss so come on!

Close just one eye, let a part of me die

Never too sure if it’s the truth or a lie

I’m not asking for your pity, woe is me sarcastically

I’m not losing sleep pathetically while waxing so poetically

But I’m waning waiting alphabetically

As I keep dropping bombs

Dropping bombs

Dropping bombs apologetically

It was a wicked whimpering Winnipeg night

When my tongue grew wings and took to flight

The thought had never crossed my mind before that moment

It’s the truth so bent, it can’t be broken

Jealousy got the best of me and had a conference with the rest of me

And said if this is all that’s left for me then there’s little room for regret

That little voice (hey!)

Little voice (hey!)

Little voice inside

Said if you don’t regret nothing then you might as well be dead

Might as well be dead

So I apologize, mostly to the four or five guys

Who stand behind me on the stage every night

As the mic starts to whisper

And the words start to blister in my mouth

That I know aren’t right

I gotta get back to who I was before my last ten years on auto-pilot

It’s the mask that quite often starts to eat into your face

So wear it lightly like a hat that can quickly be replaced

I gotta get back to who I was before my last ten years on auto-pilot

So tell me again how my life should have been

Before I was spineless, before I gave in

Because everybody thinks it’s timeless

Well time’s running out

One thing I’ll never regret is I never shed my face

Protest The Hero Asperity Of Sin

Blood stained faces bodies torn apart.

Tear stained eyes and fists clenched longing for revenge.

Bearded men gun – toting men

chanting praises to their god,

screaming “Martyrs never Die.”

Is it true that a picture says a thousand words?

or in our case is it a thousand lies?

Our eyes, Our Ears

in the Foreign world are just a source of Glowing facades

more deaf and dumb then us ourselves.

I’d rather blame the oppressor,

than blame the oppressed.

Darkness cloaks the Holy Land

sprinkled with asperity of sin

now tell me when will they be free?

Our eyes, Our ears

in the foreign world are just a source of glowing facades

more deaf and dumb then us ourselves.

Everyday we flip through the channels expecting the truth,

but what do we see?

the vilified become the victims

and the oppressors become the oppressed.

How can we live our lives?

How can we sleep at night?

Knowing that our brothers and sisters in humanity

are being stripped of their homes.

I’m asking you to stand up and make a difference,

cause it’s pretty clear that the only solution is liberation.

Our eyes our ears

in the foreign world are just a source of glowing facades

more deaf and dumb than us ourselves.

“Martyrs never DIE!”

Protest The Hero Red Stars Over The Battle Of The Cowshed

I declare a war

a fight for freedom against any system that’s built

to consume our power and maintained to divide our energy.

A system where an honest person can sweat for hours

and then play slave to the man in the television tower.

A system where private ownership erases public health care

because dollars are worth more than people; dollars are worth more than sense.

Oh what force on Earth is greater than the mighty strength of one.

it’s a one-way street through a faceless crowd;

barcodes and backlit billboards show us, guide us,

teach us how to earn our rank, divide the rich and poor,

pit us against ourselves, compiling and burning corpses of class war.

Yes, I want to topple this system held in place by financial greed

where wealth is made through ownership and social hierarchy.

Dollars are worth more than a worker in need,

more than John and Jane Doe with a family to feed.

we are the workers, the majority, and this system fears solidarity.

So I declare a war on everything they’re for

Oh what force on Earth is greater than the mighty strength of one.

it’s a one-way street through a faceless crowd;

barcodes and backlit billboards show us, guide us,

teach us how to earn our rank, divide the rich and poor,

pit us against ourselves, compiling and burning corpses of class war.

Just someone to topple the system.

I want to topple the system

Just someone to topple the system.

Protest The Hero Spoils

Endowed with the art of casting names upon its beings

The humans claimed dominion over every living fucking thing

Proud as purpose as they began to walk the earth as they arraigned

The common creatures caught within the corpus cursed, conscious human brain

Every word ever written will fall short of its intent

Even sung or spoke or screamed they will betray what they have meant

Language is the heart’s lament, a weak attempt to circumvent the

loneliness inherent in the search for permanence

All the future ghosts who scratch their names in wet cement

Demeaning meaning as they shout out at the emptiness

Abstractions are the stake between the anima and animus

Deflesh the word as scourge of human destiny

Behold the world in other people, life is clarity

Protest The Hero Fear And Loathing In Laramie

Compassion is shit. Soft-spoken words and a look of concern. The fire is lit. Emotion will never extinguish these flames that inaction has built. What makes it burn? A nation so straight that deviation’s a crime. When will we learn that sexuality is not a punishable offense? On a cold October night, a gentle soul was crucified and what remains of his blood still stains our idle hands that soft-spoken words won’t justify. Culprits are we. Let’s talk about rights. Let’s talk about sexual orientation. Let’s talk about you and an entire homophobic nation. Will you follow me down? Can we not separate ourselves from such hate? Let’s sever the head of the beast with the crown, let’s no longer participate. Will you follow me down? Why won’t anyone stand up?

Protest The Hero Yellow Teeth

Passing judgment with haste and laying to waste those who stand

before us and dishonour the faith. A dramatic opinion, but an opinion

the same. An attempt now to make right, not to enthrall or defame. An

opinion piece, one after another. Laid fat from feast, one after another.

A man is nothing more than what others claim he is, so speak clear and

ill of me and so it will be. The grating sound of my voice. The yellowing

of my teeth. Speak up. Speak clear. Speak ill of me. I found myself awake

last night. May the players take their place, repeat their lines exactly

to my public disgrace. The years exaggerate how horrible it was to be

stricken silent with no e xplanation for the cause. I can’t be the only one

losing sleep over things I should or shouldn’t have done. They are the

rope around the neck. They are the blade pressed to the wrist. It might

seem detrimental, but it’s meaningless. Left to my own devices, I am

strange. I’m a liar—entertained. I am no one to be reviled. I am no one to

be admired. Jumping rope at the end of the street, I am everyone, and

everyone is me.

Protest The Hero Tapestry

And what a fucking waste of a day

We just lay around and waste away

Because when that sun goes down it’s bottoms up

We try to reach the bottom of the endless cup

Everybody’s getting older, but no one’s growing up

As the weather’s getting colder, the room starts heating up

Cam’s hair just keeps falling out and Chris just keeps getting fatter

But from where I sit now, on this rickety stool

None of that shit really matters because

This is our Versailles

Palace on the swamp

Listen to me for a nominal fee you can have anything you want

What matters the most is the bad joke ghost

Circling your floating corpse at the end of the haunt

Never forming pleasantry

I’m so drunk I can’t feel a thing

Pledge your allegiance to the fucking swamp king

Drunk as hell

Dumb as all get out

So pucker up those pretty lips of yours and

Kiss my ass and shut your mouth

Sometimes a knife right through your heart is exactly what you need

Sometimes the things that your ashamed of make you who you’re supposed to be

Listen to me for a nominal fee you can have anything you want

We’ll remain here

We’ll remain here forever and always

What matters the most is the backdrop ghost

circling your floating corpse at the end of the haunt

We’ll remain here

We’ll remain here forever (always)

Like a million other soldiers on a thousand other battlefields we wait

Wait for the dawn

Like a million other soldiers yes we wait

This is our Versailles

Palace on the swamp

This is our Versailles