Cue The Violins Lyrics | Invokal

A few years down hip hop's line walking graveyards of trainers,
the day the bards slay the fakers then go play hard with the makers.
Dividing up the airwaves between these break heart entertainers
and busy clearing out the airways before the snakes start to invade us.
So upon faders fingers fire fury, from the stages chucking venom.
While protesters pose for pictures - post sucking lemons.
And the noise from our silence enough to open fucking heavens
as we count the sins of our violence and we hope for lucky sevens.
All the cables line the edges of the patchwork like giant stitches.
We've been trying to find the control room, crack the password, flick the switches.
And when the tides rise so high the kerbs are swimming with the fishes,
you'll find the salt that gets inside all those bites is pretty vicious.
And we proberly taste delicious when we're not choking on the bones
while the vastness that surrounds us fills with floating broken poems
and the distance that astounds us still bespoke with open toes.
Now the voting booths are closed, that's why we're quoting spoken token drones
with vocal tones that mirror the sound of wage slips tearing.
And a stance chosen cos it mimics the crowd and rage we're sharing.
Strike a pose for all the critics, take a bow in flames we're wearing.
A set of goggles for when the shit hits, and for when sun's rays are glaring.
I swear some days i'm raring to take a spanner to the system
with the kids we raise preparing to take a hammer to the pistons.
While we talk of those with wisdom, and how we sorely miss them,
and if we're sick of being pissed on, why don't we raise our falling fists then?!
On our corrogated brow, as contortions rebel,
as our fingers bleed agaisnt the walls of the cell,
we'll keep stating it now from this conformist hell
that all we really need are the stories we tell.
I've written prose that would trap fingers to cold plastic desk tops.
Had change befriending lint, then falling down my leg lots.
Had a halo, a mohikan, a skin head, even dreadlocks,
and through every single stage had freedom songs to make my head nod.
As dead dogs lye outside still standing shattered gates.
While inside the minds eye just kicks back and laughs at fate.
I hold the corners of my life in with strips of standard gaffer tape.
We could be forging fingers fighting but we just use these hands to masterbate,
procratinate. The last to take steps towards blinding sunshine,
while the eulogy reads - 'This is for the sad day that the sun died.'
And the punks share the stories with the fascist he just untied.
In tortured playlists, reporters read from 'Fashion Tips For Gun Crimes'.
And sometimes, just sometimes we ditch the screen for fellow marchers.
And we can all raise up a fist but you can see what a yellow heart does.
While inky fingers tickle the noses of those that smell the carcass,
and we run teeth mark roses across the earth that swells; starkers.
With a pocket full of markers to write on steel bricks and mortar.
While we're taught to trun cheeks when feeling sick from these reporters,
while lovers can not sleep for dreams of lovers being tortured,
and rodents with angry teeth line dead bodies like the chalk does.
While the streets are getting rawkus with the sounds of vile things
and the churches ill inform us about the acts of violent kings.
In the wasteland there before us, on tin can ground a child sings.
Oh how little it has taught us. Ok - now cue the violins...

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Invokal – Cue The Violins Lyrics