Saint
Unveiling the Moral Quandary: Quickstrike's 'Saint' Serenade
Lyrics
I share of startin’ fights
I engage in starting conflicts.
But what’s the difference - well, no one can tell
There's no clear distinction or recognition of the difference.
One foot on the road, one foot in the grave, told you once, told you twice, don’t like to behave
I am torn between two paths - one toward life and the other toward death. Despite being warned multiple times, I dislike conforming to societal norms.
Look into my eyes, pull out your gun, promise to meet you six feet under, son
Challenging confrontation by asking someone to confront me with a weapon, suggesting they'll end up dead as a result.
Could I be a saint if I, if I kill
Questioning whether one can be considered a saint despite having the capability to kill.
Could I be a saint if I, if I preach
Questioning whether preaching alone could make someone a saint.
When right is wrong and wrong is right, who are you, you to decide?
Challenging the conventional moral compass, questioning who has the authority to determine right from wrong.
When heads are tales dead men can’t tell
When someone is dead, they cannot recount their experiences or side of the story.
My organized chaos, the freedom I sell Freedom I sell
Describing the controlled chaos in life, selling the idea of freedom.
I wear my wings and feathers, rule my whips in hell
Expressing authority and control over personal demons in a metaphorical hell.
Loved all the saints and the sinners, but they won’t tell
Having empathy for both the righteous and the wrongdoers, but they remain silent about certain matters.
It’s so easy to crash through love and fall right into lust
Highlighting the ease of transitioning from love to lust, which often leads to recklessness.
Wake up to the prayer and end up mining on good old, gold dust
Starting the day with good intentions (prayer) but ending up distracted by material desires (gold dust).
Could I be a saint if I, if I kill
Questioning whether committing acts of violence would negate the possibility of being a saint.
Could I be a saint if I, if I preach
Wondering if merely preaching could make someone a saint.
When right is wrong and wrong is right, who are you, you to decide
Challenging the authority of defining morality, implying a subjective nature of right and wrong.
When heads are tales dead men can’t tell
When someone is dead, their story or perspective is lost forever.
My organized chaos, the freedom I sell Freedom I sell
Describing the controlled chaos in life, selling the idea of freedom once more.
I’ll call for royal court and be my own devil’s advocate
Preparing to argue both sides of a situation, playing the role of one's own devil's advocate.
The father, judge and thy decide just where should I sit and boil my life down to a song
Being the ultimate authority in deciding personal fate and reflecting on life through music.
Wonder if these days, they take too long
Contemplating whether current times are dragging too slowly.
Call a date with death, tell me am I brave
Asking whether facing death demonstrates bravery.
To sing this lovely, strung up serenade
Describing the act of singing a beautiful but melancholic song.
Could I be a saint if I, if I kill
Questioning if killing others would prohibit one from being considered a saint.
Could I be a saint if I, if I preach
Questioning if preaching alone would be enough to achieve sainthood.
When right is wrong and wrong is right, who are you, you to decide
Challenging the authority or qualification of individuals to determine what's right or wrong.
When heads are tales dead men can’t tell
When someone is dead, their perspective or story is lost forever.
My organized chaos, it’s the freedom I sell Freedom I sell
Describing the controlled chaos in life, selling the idea of freedom once again.
They proved it I had my fair share of bein’ nice, I had my fair
know it You see, I am a saint
Stating a self-awareness of being a saint despite flaws and complexities.
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