Where Is Home?
Bloc Party · A Weekend in the City [2007]
Off to the funeral making cola knots
We sit and reminisce about the past and in her voice only sadness her only son taken from her
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
Second generation blues or points of view not listened to
Different worlds and different rules, a question of allegiance
Claiming to the bible and a spatula the memory of the way things were
I do not see how I cannot smile I deal with anger all the time
You'll win, what they did to the black men
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
Where is it?
Where is home?
Where is it?
Where is home?
I walk this mountain tired of lunity and belligerence
this told me what a flat wave is getting me down
I want to stamp on the face of every young policeman today
And break the fingers of every old judge to cut off the feet of every ballerina I can
So I decide
I decide
I pretend that there's nothing wrong
The teeth of this world take me home and every day I must ask myself, where, where, where
Where is it?
Where is home?
Where is it?
Where is home?
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
We sit and reminisce about the past and in her voice only sadness her only son taken from her
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
Second generation blues or points of view not listened to
Different worlds and different rules, a question of allegiance
Claiming to the bible and a spatula the memory of the way things were
I do not see how I cannot smile I deal with anger all the time
You'll win, what they did to the black men
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
Where is it?
Where is home?
Where is it?
Where is home?
I walk this mountain tired of lunity and belligerence
this told me what a flat wave is getting me down
I want to stamp on the face of every young policeman today
And break the fingers of every old judge to cut off the feet of every ballerina I can
So I decide
I decide
I pretend that there's nothing wrong
The teeth of this world take me home and every day I must ask myself, where, where, where
Where is it?
Where is home?
Where is it?
Where is home?
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us
In every headline we are reminded that this is not home for us