Текст песни Oh Heartland, Up Yours!

The stars collected Each world accounted for Freed all the children Seems there is nothing more If I only had a rowboat I would row it up to heaven And if heaven would not have me I would take the other option I will seek out my own satisfaction From the wood lying in the bedroom To the priest with his broken arrows There's a method to the madness They will feign an expression of sadness A concatenation of locusts And the farmers are losing their focus On the pitch of the Avenroe grasses I will sing sing sing to the masses Oh Heartland, up yours The hollow voice of The fourteenth century Too much assumption to be taken seriously On the road like a Disney kid in cutoffs and a beater With a feathered fringe, it doesn't suit a simonia greeter Doesn't work doesn't fly doesn't handle From the wood lying in the bedroom To the priest with his broken arrows There's a method to the madness They will feign an expression of sadness A concatenation of locusts And the farmers are losing their focus On the pitch of the Avenroe grasses I will sing sing sing to the masses Oh Heartland, up yours (Oh violent lent violent lent violent lent) I will not sing your praises I will not sing your praises here I will not sing your praises I will not sing your praises here I will not sing your praises I will not sing your praises I will not sing your praises I will not sing your praises here