I'd rather keep to myself
Conceals the dust on the shelf
Just scream inside and then fade
Like a fool in restless slumber
Who dies on the bed he feeds
Is this food for the soul?
Is this food for our country
living out of our control?
The sounds of the hungry,
Were whispers not their own
But talking, speaking, singing, screaming
An eagle has landed in our midst
Lives high above in the towers
Drive him out or shoot him down
For land he lives in is ours
Is this food for the soul?
Is this food for our country
Living out of our control?
Is this food for the soul?
Is this food for our country
Living out of our control?
And when I see in this room,
on the table, is this food?
Is this food for the soul?
Is this food for our country
living out of our control?
Is this food for the table?
Is this food for the soul?
Is this food for our country
Living out of our control?
4.8
