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lirik lagu yes, god is a dj; no, not a good one – guante & big cats

[hook-guante and joe horton]
who do you trust in the blackness?
i can feel this planet underneath my feet
revolving, it’s all gone according to plan
but whose plan?

[verse 1-guante]
i met the devil in the middle of the night
like a lover from another lifetime
his eyes were sad and deep and dreaming
alone in a crowd, he p-ssed right by
and last night i, experienced evil
faded and broken from blazin’ the opiate of the people
third strike, i’m so gone
hold on, waist deep in the river with all my clothes on
and i ain’t sayin’ there’s no god
just sayin’ it takes more than religion to know god
no tears, my face is a sand storm
and i’ve had a crash course in that force
all we ask for is justice
i’ve seen him fleein’ the scene, one set of footprints runnin’
so keep your faith; i’ll keep on breathin’
(she’s watchin’) i will always have something to believe in
after everything i’ve seen it’s hard to see coincidence
i don’t know who’s listenin’
i wanna stay away from the fire
i’d talk to the lord, but i’m scared that he’s wearin’ a wire

[hook]

[verse 2-joe horton]
let’s conquer the sp-ce between the molotov c-cktail flame
and the stone-faced revolutionary with the bad aim
the landscape is bleedin’, my palms are stained red
find another universe to leave for dead
leaves are soakin’ in the wine, but it tastes alright
have another sip, it’ll help to chase the nightmares
are scared of the dark in these parts
so dance in the moonlight, hide from the morning star
born in the forks of the tongues
of the sins of the innocent twins
one is wearin’ a cloak and a cloven hoof
the other is livin’ proof that pretty things can have sinister wings too
so walk like a predator rememberin’ the steps of his last meal
pop the champagne, waste what you can’t spill
pinch your skin, if you feel it then you know it’s real
leave it in the dream where the steam rises off her, still

[hook]

[verse 3-guante]
(i got a story) for every action, you know the rest
so consider this a warning, consider this mourning
in america the proletariat is still snoring
street corners mirror the faces, lines forming
once upon a time there was a story
went to sleep at eighteen and woke up when he was forty
no savings and he’s not insured
but he helped a corporation make a few cents more
and as a young man, he helped a nation fight and win a war
but he’s getting more and more convinced, it was a sin
so he sits quietly in the revival
wondering if god is the revolver hidden in the bible
in the middle of a crisis
he is living life like a missile in a silo
rusted and dusty
but still capable of devouring a country
hungry people don’t stay hungry
they either die or they take a bite
and one day he’s gonna crack open
and bleed sunshine through the fading night
one day they will take his life…

[outro]
maybe not through death, but a simple push. a soft breaking. he will be lying in bed, or waiting to get on a bus and his hands will roll up like starving spiders; his lips will form a word, maybe a name. and he will push back

we are all closer. we are all capable. we all have so much tumbling around inside of us, pushing against our skin, kicking at the weak points

they forget. how much pressure is built up inside, how n0bly we fight to hold it in, how easily we break

- guante big cats

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