Behind the kitchen tables
In soft living room chairs
We sit here
Whisper slaves don't let anyone hear you
Stay where you sit
Keep you mouth shut
Follow you father
End up like him
A silent shadow at the end of the table
With a good old grin
Revolution At Home
Goes on and on and on and on and on
Revolution At Home
Goes on and on and on and on and on
Let's tear up the newspaper together
I tell you it's all scum
Let's love in silence
No pictures, no sounds
I will never understand
Why do they keep the lights on
We walk between color and shine
We whisper, we don't shout
I wanna stand up
But I love to sit down
I wanna stand up
But I love to sit down
Food made of car tires
Can I call myself a man
Food made of car tires
I'll stuff it in me
I could never hit a woman
But I can promise you
Wake up theres no middle class dream
What smells like flowers
Is really nothing
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