Silver And Gold
In the shit house a shotgun; Praying hands hold me down
Only the hunter was hunted in this tin-can town
Tin-can town
Only the hunter was hunted in this tin-can town
Tin-can town
No stars in the black night; Looks like the sky fell down
No sun in the daylight; Looks like it, chained to the ground
Chained to the ground
No sun in the daylight; Looks like it, chained to the ground
Chained to the ground
The warden said, The exit is sold.
If you want a way out, silver and...
If you want a way out, silver and...
Broken back to the ceiling; Broken nose to the floor
I scream at the silence, it's coming; It crawls under the door
There's a rope around my neck and there's a trigger in your gun
Jesus I say something; I am someone; I am someone
I scream at the silence, it's coming; It crawls under the door
There's a rope around my neck and there's a trigger in your gun
Jesus I say something; I am someone; I am someone
Captains and kings in the ships hold
They came to collect silver and gold
Silver and gold
They came to collect silver and gold
Silver and gold
Seen them coming and a going; Seen them captains and the kings
See them navy blue uniforms; See them bright and shiny things
Bright shiny things
See them navy blue uniforms; See them bright and shiny things
Bright shiny things
The temperature is rising; The fever white hot
Mister, I ain't got nothing but it's more than you got
Mister, I ain't got nothing but it's more than you got
Chains no longer bind me; Not the shackles at my feet
Outside are the prisoners; Inside the free
Set them free; Set them free
Outside are the prisoners; Inside the free
Set them free; Set them free
A prize fighter in a corner is told, Hit where it hurts
Silver and gold; Silver and gold
Silver and gold; Silver and gold
(Yeah, silver and gold. This song was written in a hotel room in New York city.
Around about the time a friend of ours, Little Steven,
was putting together a record of Artists Against Apartheid.
It's a song written about a man in a shanty town outside of Johannesburg.
A man who's sick of looking down the barrel of white South Africa.
A man who is at the point where he is ready to take up arms against his oppressor.
A man who has lost faith in the peace-makers of the West,
while they argue and while they fail to support a man like Bishop Tutu
and his requests for economic sanctions against South Africa.
Am I bugging you? I don't mean to bug you. Okay, Edge, play the blues.)
Around about the time a friend of ours, Little Steven,
was putting together a record of Artists Against Apartheid.
It's a song written about a man in a shanty town outside of Johannesburg.
A man who's sick of looking down the barrel of white South Africa.
A man who is at the point where he is ready to take up arms against his oppressor.
A man who has lost faith in the peace-makers of the West,
while they argue and while they fail to support a man like Bishop Tutu
and his requests for economic sanctions against South Africa.
Am I bugging you? I don't mean to bug you. Okay, Edge, play the blues.)