I'm retching on the dirt, it's earthiness coating my throat.
I'm wincing on the bitterest pill.
I refuse to swallow.
I'm offered the warmth of a velvet glove, an iron fist to some.
I'm hounded by white - right might that wants the country pure.
[| From: http://www.elyrics.net |]
I'm incensed by those in awe of "living amongst their own".
Selective perfection will cut their own throats!
I'm constantly forcing the point, but we're all retching on dirt, =
and we'll choke if we don't spit it out!
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