Quarter Acre of Heartache 

History becomes romantic when you need a fix of guilt 
But you debate semantics in the house our slavery built 
Im not feeling any freer, debating history 
Its another fucking cause to you, its life or death to me 

Our point two-five acres of heartache 
Will soon be stolen away 
They'll get around to your land someday 
If you keep on living this way 

The pavement cracks and up sprouts about a thousand weeds
(and i can see) 
persistence and a careful eye are the only things i need 
I can feel it burning everywhere, everywhere I go 
Even in the poison kingdom, the place where noone knows 
Where noone knows