i'm not ashamed of having lost little
having been born long after a world war
and i won't let your "therefore"
conclude my statements to be weak

you won't see a turning cheek
just a fist in the form of reason
amongst the sex-tales of political season
there's incompetence to be revealed

so let's just take it to the field
at midnight, with the night as a microphone
spit out your logic, i'll spit my own
and we'll let the silence decide who's wrong