Singing fight songs, the signs of hope are on the front lawns again

Mimosa molotovs to firebomb that feeling of dread

Multilevel moms trading ways to self actualize

Inject a little oomph into our potemkin lives

 

It's kind of tragic, but kind of funny

What kind of revolution takes all the money?

And gives you 50,000 self help books about how if you just kept your room clean, you could live out your dreams

 

Now we're dancing with chains, let the mask slip from your face

Cuz losing touch, I promise it never hurts that much

Now our delusions and faith can help us paper over everything

Except for the hand in the dark, that finds a million ways to break your heart

 

We thought the mob, was fine with slumming

And the revolution, was never coming

It takes just 56 channels of American Gladiators to feel serene

As they live out your dreams

 

Now we're dancing with chains, when the mask slip from your face

Cuz losing touch, I promise it never hurts that much

Now our delusions and faith help us paper over everything

Except for the hand in the dark, that finds a million ways to break your heart

 

It's kind of tragic, but kind of funny

What kind of revolution takes all the money?

And gives you endless HR seminars about how you, specifically you, must do better

 

So now you're arguing with the coked up dads, who are online defending

The crooked cops, who are done pretending

That their love affair with Nazi shit is just a meme

Even our villains, they're pretenders, living on the fumes of a dream

 

Dancing with chains, when the mask slip from your face

Cuz losing touch, I promise it never hurts that much

Now our delusions and faith paper over everything

Except for the hand in the dark, that finds a million ways to break your heart

 

Dancing with chains