BREAD AND CIRCUITS LYRICS

"Trophy Room"

Proud portraits of a doctored age
A shadow cast upon a missing page
Quaint crafts and artifacts
Round well-defined collectors
In defeat the heads are hung
In the galleries of shopped retail
The hollowed eyes of the once defiant
Mark the end of the trail

Severed heads, severed heads
Rest on the mantlepiece
In dead display

And with the cunning art of seizure
Ship the spoils off to Rome
To please halls of leisure
On the walls of "better homes"
Secret histories are told
In the stone of stately alabaster
Stolen heads hold up the throne
Say servants of their masters

The culture cuts like knives
The modern thought of white design
I wouldn't say they spared my life
They fashion roles to hijack souls
And label them as their own

And in the proud halls of Wharton
The unspoken rule is known
That the wealth of nations
Is an appropriation
Of an image as their own

Thanks to Peterpunk for these lyrics

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