Interpret:

Manic Street Preachers

Album:

Postcards From A Young Man

I'm no longer preaching to the converted
That congregation has long ago deserted
All we discovered was even more despair
But we learned how to cope, we learned how not to care


And the sun will still keep rising
Always deflecting, always disguising
Was there ever another place
Did we ever really exist?


All we make is entertainment
A sad indictment of what we're good at
We're all part of the grand delusion


We made so much and we let it all crumble
To safeguard our rights to make us more human
Oh, this country is but an empty shell
A clearing house for heaven, a clearing house for hell


And the sun will still keep rising
Always deflecting, always disguising
Was there ever another place
Did we ever really exist?


All we make is entertainment
It's so damn easy and inescapable
We're so post-modern, we're so post everything


All we make is entertainment
An end to hope and civilization
A simple way to seek perfection


The insides of our nation have been exposed
It only confirms what we already know
Pointless jobs just lead to pointless lives
It's breaking up our bones, it's breaking up our minds