We live off the land
And we feed all of our children with our hands
You wake every man
With the greed of a thousand Hitlers and here's mine
And though, the race is tighter
We've only just begun to feel our fire

Now, we're coming to our senses
Now, we're coming to our senses

We work [?]
And we sow our seeds we've made into our share
You take, both our hearts
And replace them with an empty jar of bark
And though, the race is tired
We've only just begun to feel our fire

Now, we're coming to our senses
Now, we're coming to our senses
Now, we're coming to our senses

People don't talk together boys
Keep it to yourself, no
This is the land of America
The land of the free
The land of the free
The land of the free
The land of the