There is a wrong and there is a right
Well if you think you wronged me
Then you'd be right
Back when music meant saying something worth being said
Not money in your pocket but a soul to be fed
With the music of the streets
Not the chic beats of the elite
Or the wannabe street
With the same old sheets of recycled notes
Everything except for hope floats
I've always believed that something worth saying has got to be said
Can no longer insult your heart, by ignoring your head
So lay in your coffin like it's your bed
Can't rest in this present life, your life to be led
So plant those seeds that are in your hand
Let them scatter and blow like grains of sand
And let them march together like a marching band
Only room for one conductor in this dry and homely band
United we stand, and hail high the unheard cries
That are held in our unfurled hands
Oh all our mighty plans to plant and grow
Invest and show, show me the money, it makes me sick
It makes me sick, sick, sick
I refuse to be the hands on a clock that tick
Or part of a faulty foundation laid with my own bricks
My selfish tricks, my rhythmic licks, my ungodly kicks
Oh it makes me sick
Talk about distraction like it's a normal human reaction
To walk through life numb, here we come, and I'm done
My brother once said I'd rather be alive than dead
To the truth that is redder than red
It's redder than red, red, red, red
I know what I'm trying to say, even as I awoke today
with a cloud over my heart and in my head
Something worth saying is worth being said
It's not about inventing your own rules,
rolling with your own crews, protesting gas, or dissing the news
When the only thing that rolls is a royce
And the people rejoice, and I cry because I don't have a choice
Of the moldy bread that I'm being fed
Of people saying things not worth being said
Let alone put to a note, everything except for hope floats
And I don't care if you're not there 'cause
the songs that you are singing are just air
There just air, air, air
I told the devil there was no smoking in this place
Then the devil, he blew smoke in my face
I told the devil there was no feeling in my heart
Then the devil he threw a fiery dart
Now try to tell me that the devil ain't smart
That he ain't smart, smart, smart
So plant the seeds that are in your hand
Well if you think you wronged me
Then you'd be right
Back when music meant saying something worth being said
Not money in your pocket but a soul to be fed
With the music of the streets
Not the chic beats of the elite
Or the wannabe street
With the same old sheets of recycled notes
Everything except for hope floats
I've always believed that something worth saying has got to be said
Can no longer insult your heart, by ignoring your head
So lay in your coffin like it's your bed
Can't rest in this present life, your life to be led
So plant those seeds that are in your hand
Let them scatter and blow like grains of sand
And let them march together like a marching band
Only room for one conductor in this dry and homely band
United we stand, and hail high the unheard cries
That are held in our unfurled hands
Oh all our mighty plans to plant and grow
Invest and show, show me the money, it makes me sick
It makes me sick, sick, sick
I refuse to be the hands on a clock that tick
Or part of a faulty foundation laid with my own bricks
My selfish tricks, my rhythmic licks, my ungodly kicks
Oh it makes me sick
Talk about distraction like it's a normal human reaction
To walk through life numb, here we come, and I'm done
My brother once said I'd rather be alive than dead
To the truth that is redder than red
It's redder than red, red, red, red
I know what I'm trying to say, even as I awoke today
with a cloud over my heart and in my head
Something worth saying is worth being said
It's not about inventing your own rules,
rolling with your own crews, protesting gas, or dissing the news
When the only thing that rolls is a royce
And the people rejoice, and I cry because I don't have a choice
Of the moldy bread that I'm being fed
Of people saying things not worth being said
Let alone put to a note, everything except for hope floats
And I don't care if you're not there 'cause
the songs that you are singing are just air
There just air, air, air
I told the devil there was no smoking in this place
Then the devil, he blew smoke in my face
I told the devil there was no feeling in my heart
Then the devil he threw a fiery dart
Now try to tell me that the devil ain't smart
That he ain't smart, smart, smart
So plant the seeds that are in your hand
song info: