Roots Music Report

Credits:

Lyrics

Step back to the beginning,
 of the complete index for fools is the cry,
and it wonders me where’d they get their power sign.
they’re pushin’ electric movement and alternate frustrations,
far out cries, power to degeneration.

and what they’ve said,
is that all the earth dwellers,
are nothing but universal nuts, and that’s the world.
but what they’ve said,
‘cause what they’ve said is nothing but wasted words.

and I’ll ask what and where is,
where is the distinctive.

they could’ve had it all,
aw, those general technicales,
they just don’t learn,
‘cause they deal their weight and then dodge it.
and the depths of their half harmonic brains,
lord, they keep jam packed with joystick logic.
it’s nothing but wasted lives.

and I’ll ask what and where is,
Where is the distinction.

and at their best,
they’re nothing but telescoping blue poles,
said symbols that the bad times,
the bad times must roll.
and at their worst,
what must I say,
well I don’t know,
so I don’t dare say so.

hey, but I wonder,
 if they’re just for lettering artwork,
or gray machined aspirations,
and there is an index,
of and you better believe that it’s just for fools.