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Storming The Sandcastles

from Kettle Rebellion by Kettle Rebellion

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lyrics

It's true, our lords have lost their minds
From the thirst for blood and the hunger to dine
On the freshest meat from the foreign rogues
Such a manner of fools that are heirs to this throne

In the house of the mad
House of the perverted
They're talking to mirrors
They're dancing in circles
The art of their warfare's abstract and absurd
In the house of the mad
House of the perverted

Feel the leather upon our hands
And remember who carried the sands
Feel the leather upon our hands

So sleep, my child, and like the sun you will rise
Your dream never lies
Awaken, my child, the fields are calling your name
They bring a new day

It's true, our lords have cut out their hearts
They're slaying the artists and selling their arts
They're slaying dissenters in public at noon
Seems we'll all be slain if the lords are not soon

In the house of the mad
House of the perverted
They're talking to mirrors
Dancing in circles
They own all the land
But want more for their burden
Which we're made to carry
When like sheep, we're herded

We pass the old workers a'paving dead roads
Wading 'round towers in treacherous moats
Begging for change and trading their souls
Gambling their children and bargaining hopes
We asked why they stand in such foul, wretched earth
They held up their jewelry and bowed to their mirth
We could have been trammeled by such vexing lies
But still we stormed onward
Now hither's our prize

To storm the great sandcastles
We'll need great waves
Of revolt and bravery
Who are the brave?
We are the brave

credits

from Kettle Rebellion, released April 1, 2014

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Mischief Brew Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Emerging from the undead ashes of PA punk troupe The Orphans, Mischief Brew started with a scratchy demo tape in 2000 and has since spread the good word of anarchy, hilarity, and rebellion across state lines and even the Atlantic Ocean a few times. We've managed to exist for over 13 years in one form or another by kissing nobody's ass and doing everything ourselves, for the most part. No rules! ... more

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