Trophy Room (Lyrics)

Proud portraits of a doctored age A shadow cast upon a missing page Quaint crafts and artifacts Round well-defined collectors In defeat the heads are hung In the galleries of shopped retail The hollowed eyes of the once defiant Mark the end of the trail Severed heads, severed heads Rest on the mantlepiece In dead display And with the cunning art of seizure Ship the spoils off to Rome To please halls of leisure On the walls of "better homes" Secret histories are told In the stone of stately alabaster Stolen heads hold up the throne Say servants of their masters The culture cuts like knives The modern thought of white design I wouldn't say they spared my life They fashion roles to hijack souls And label them as their own And in the proud halls of Wharton The unspoken rule is known That the wealth of nations Is an appropriation Of an image as their own