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Bills spread out before me like a ragged patchwork quilt on my Walmart kitchen table that some Chinese worker built. You've swindled out our jobs. Trillion-dollar deficit. And here around my kitchen table we are barely making it. Here around my kitchen table we're all getting pissed. But at my kitchen table there is no silver spoon. You can't seem to solve our problems, but you'll send us to the moon. 'Cause here around my kitchen table, all your worthless talk is shit. The world is falling apart around us. We're not making it. And around my kitchen table we're all pissed. All the kids who go to fight expect the glorious lie, as if they fight for freedom when they really go to die. Their blood's a tragic story that you'd never deign to tell. To save your corporate minions you would march them straight to hell. You would march our sons and daughters off straight to hell. But at my kitchen table we hear the news each night. A few more soldiers die each day, and you have caused this blight. All humanity is suffering, so why just add to it? But here around my kitchen table we're discussing it. Yes, here at my kitchen table we're all pissed. I'm at my kitchen table overwhelmed by all you've done. Your rhetoric means nothing as the world becomes undone. Because mine's the daily toil of one who works to toe the line. But now instead it should be said that we are falling more behind. Yes, instead it should be said we're all behind.

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Upinatem Boise, Idaho

Fast punk rock since 1995.

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