A mass of hands press on the market window Ghosts of progress
Dressed in slow death Feeding on hunger And glaring through the promise
Upon the food that rots slowly in the aisle A mass of nameless at the oasis
That hides the graves beneath the masters hill Buried for drinking
The rivers water While shackled to the line At the empty well
This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound
Over the new ground Listen to the fascist sing Take hope here War is elsewhere
You were chosen This is god's land Soon well be free Of blot and mixture
Seeds planted by our Forefathers hand
A mass of promises Begin to rupture Like the pockets Of the new world kings
Like swollen stomachs In Appalachia Like the priests that fuck you
As they whisper holy things A mass of tears have transformed to stones now
Sharpened on suffering Woven into slings Hope lies in the rubble of this rich fortress
Taking today what tomorrow never brings
This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound x2
Over the new ground aint the new sound just like the old sound
just like the noose wound over the new ground aint the new sound
just like the old sound look at the noose now over the over the
over the burning ground
Aint it funny how the factorys doors close Round the time that the school doors close
Round the time that the doors of the jail cells Open up to greet you like the reaper
Aint it funny how the factorys doors close Round the time that the school doors close
Round the time that a hundred thousand jail cells Open up to greet you like the reaper
This is the new sound Just like the old sound Just like the noose wound
Over the new ground Like ashes in the fall
The lyrics also deal with racism: "This is the new sound just like the old sound, just like the noose wound over the new ground" is a reference to lynchings in the American south.
(songfacts)
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