What do you make of that?
A ball of gold in a blood sky
Do you see beauty there
A gloried light at the edge of night?
Or do I confuse despair
Too privileged now to care
Oh, this belief-killing country!
Have I forgotten the ones who died today?
Who's to say
What do you make of them
The ones who live on the outside?
Are they the lucid few
Who fathom past lies that we hold fast?
It's hard to like what they do
Frightened they'll break our glue
My whole life I've known the answers
But now, the jury's hung
And every vote has been swung
And the truth is
It's on the tip of my tongue
So what I really want to know is –
Oh, that ball of gold in the blood sky fading!
So what I really want to ask you is –
Oh, that ball of gold in the blood sky, almost gone!
Can't you ask this question for me?
What do you make of us?
I have this hope that we matter
All things have consequence
And we should fight and defend this right
Yet, something shouts we're all fools
Dying in beds and schools
The planet's spinning for nothing
And that golden ball is now a blot
And you know what I think?
I forgot