You can lead the punks to reason
but you can't make them think
and lifelong trouble with the burning fists
and angry hearts of america's young is a fear of the new
and the narrow outdated tunnels they see the world through
And where to turn but up ones own a**
where the answers are free but sh** nonetheless
We're used to the smell and content with the mess
because a slogan's much easier than a second guess
And still we water paper flowers
thinking we've found the way for tomorrow
lest we forget
the empty heads will always be the first
to try and k** what's already dead