History of Transformers - Steve Jablonsky

Halcyon days are not a thing Nostalgia is no excuse for stupidity I don't believe in golden ages Or presidents that put kids in cages America awaits on bended knee Can't you see Sweet children, Locke's burden Why did mother draw the curtains Free will is your dilemma (what will the dust remember) Tell me where do you really want to be? At the end of history? Utopia is an opiated dream What we want is an open society One torn and frayed at the edges With pages of imperfect changes And every hallmark of rationality Can't you see Sweet children, Locke's burden Why did mother draw the curtains Free will is your dilemma (what will the dust remember) Tell me where do you really want to be? At the end of history? At the end of history nobody will be innocent Of naked crimes against eternity Now we're in the last second of our December Tell me how do you want to be remembered For generosity or a fucking monstrosity Tell me where do you really want to be? At the end of history? Tell me where do you really want to be? At the end of history? Tell me where do you really want to be? At the end of history? Tell me where do you really want to be? At the end of history?

Now it's not what it seems I just can't start to say It was these evil days Of pain and fear Something was broke My skin hard like an oak My mind hard like an oak I got a history of violence It's not written on my face You wouldn't know it It's buried in my leather case I got a memory of violence It's not written on my skin You couldn't see it It's a ripple in my grin Like the people of my kin And now it's not what it seems I just can't start to say It was these evil days Of pain and fear Something was broke My mind hard like an oak My skin hard like an oak I got a history of silence The bruises and the sins Don't wash away It's not written in my name Like a freckle on my skin Something that I've never shown Memories from a broken home The engine with no train Shame like a funny game The witness of the sin The scratches on my skin The moment I begin To runaway James Dean The shutter on the screen The curtain on the scene The arrow in the breast The weight inside the chest An erasble race With no traceable trace Satchel full of lies The devil in the eye It's not written on my grave It's not written on my grave It's not written on my grave You wouldn't know it I'm buried safe and well behaved I got a history of evil I got a history of evil I got a history of evil