Garmonia besporidkov

from by tipotanaxaso

/

lyrics

Harmony of Riots

You can talk about what’s not there
You can be silent about what exists
You can be afraid to get up,
Because there is a probability you could suddenly be locked up. Personally, I believe in vengeance while being unresentful.
I am confident that an evil tendency could lose it potency,
Thanks to disarming of one link,
Or due to counteraction, Committed over the machine.
So that is the picture.
No need to slip me relaxation in the form of nicotine.
Your whole democracy is just supremacy of capital and elite,
but not the people.
Who trusts these mugs? Fuck! Bastards.
State - unfreedom.
Watch with both eyes open!
Observe how logic shatters against the chin of law.
Moral is two-faced, love is cynical, perception is repeatable.
Freedom is no longer ethical.
Even so it also has become so raunchy,
That publicly speaking of it is just indecent, Especially when desperation instead of the calm,
Alike renunciation from life of adaptation
Pours out into street resistance.

Close the curtain, open it up again.
At first a word, after that the siren, then a boulder, hail of stones.
I look into the crowd, I see free people,
Creators, sculptors of their own destiny, their way.
Cooperation, self-management. Punishers are not letting to get through,
the city is cordoned off,
Cops are bloody, hot,
heat from the Molotov cocktails is not letting us freeze.
And that’s not self-goal, but means of struggle against terror.
Singing along our dreams, pigs will be kicked out with shame.

Fools you are tin soldiers, shooting lead
Into your sisters and your brothers, with brass rod across the face,
And your selves will return in zinc box,
Just to rely on copper post mortem.
Shit, that’s brutal as fuck!
Without possessing the present, there will be no future. That’s a fact. That’s why I don’t care, that your decorations Became your contents.
Final gong.
Thousands of broken glass and window cases, banks and large bourgeois stores.
Billions of shards and each one is reflecting A particle of the scream or expression of the children strangled by the hungry death,
Left with no shelter and family, in the womb of alien hell,
Children of slaves and whores, children of idiots, Defaced by the brutal reality of the communal cells,
And all of the people who chocked on the vomit of political combinations. We stay for people, we stay for freedom, and we are against the mechanical scumbags,
The ones that refuse to comprehend, We are against the whole system, for which to be effective, Means to govern, suppress, oppress, control, Hold by authority to eternally stuff their pockets, Perceiving citizens as nothing more than resources,
These are simple things, brother, But the problem is that in the neighbouring supermarket the tights and hand-cuffs for BDSM,
Also the goggles, which break the string of consciousness, that runs from eye to the brain, And all that is on sale. Come on, remove the splinter and quickly choose a comfortable pose.

credits

from Eifo Ha'Adam?, released January 4, 2013

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tipotanaxaso Israel

political, underground hip hop from israHELL

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