Rotating Lies

[intro]] Count the smiles. Count the flags. Count the hands they shake while they pick your pockets. Same suit, new tie—same blood in the rinse cycle. They sell us a sunrise in a sponsor’s shade, Glitter on the gallows, a patriotic parade. Camera flash—click—they kiss the ring, Lipstick on the ledger where the lobbyists sing. They preach “security” with a dealer’s grin, While the fine print crawls like a parasite in. We get crumbs and slogans, they get the keys— To the wells, to the war, to the pharmacies. We're tired of bullshit Wrapped in a suit Smiling for cameras Selling the proof Oil on the table Blood in the quote Weapons in briefcases Medicine for vote They spin the same wheel Wear different masks Take from the poor Then call it an act We’re tired of bullshit—corrupted charades, A ribbon-cutting funeral where the truth gets erased. Oil. Guns. Pills. Spin the wheel again. Different headlines, same old sin. They call it “progress” while they harvest our breath— A consistent rotation of profit and death. [solo] Rotating lies, rotating lies We see it, we see it Rotating lies, rotating lies We won't believe it Payday for the wolves Pain for the rest Rotating lies, rotating lies We're done with this mess Read the donors—read the donors! Read the donors—read the donors! Follow the money like a bloodhound in the snow, It always finds the warmest corpse to call home. They want us numb, compliant, split in two— Arguing over scraps while the vault door swings through. [breakdown] You can't keep naming Suffering a plan You can't keep buying The whole damn scam Every handshake Every clip Every promise We can see through it We’re tired of bullshit—corrupted charades, The same damn carousel with different faces. Oil. Guns. Pills. Spin the wheel again. We’re not your product. We’re not your “when.” We want lives, not margins, not graves with confetti— No more consistent rotation—we’re breaking the rhythm, steady. Rotating lies, rotating lies We see it, we see it Rotating lies, rotating lies We won't believe it Payday for the wolves Pain for the rest Rotating lies, rotating lies We're done with this mess No more hymns for thieves. No more flags for sale. No more applause for the slaughterhouse in a suit.