I fuckin' love that one rock video where that ****ing jack-*** mohawked
millionaire prances around by far the worst sausage party on earth, where by
mere chance he's caught on film shaking hands with an incredibly diverse
collection of patriotic skins. I like the message it sends: With a Rebel
yell, Just Do Exactly What You're Told. One million douche bags can't be wrong?
"When did punk rock become so safe?" You'll excuse me if I laugh in your face as I
itemize your receipts and PowerPoint your balance sheets. I hear this year's Vans Warped Tour
is "going green!" I guess they heard that money grows on trees. Hope they ship all those shitty bands
overseas like they did the factories. Music's power to describe, compel, renew...
It's all a distant second to the offers you can't refuse. Anyone remember when we used
to believe that music was a sacred place and not some fucking bank machine? Not
something you just bought and sold? How could we have been so naive? Well, I think
when all is said and done, just cause we were young doesn't mean we were wrong. And
I'll rock back and forth on this two-bit hobbyhorse 'til she splinters and gives way.
I'll tend the flowers by her grave. And whisper her name. If anyone out there understands can
I please see a show of hands just so I know I'm not insane? Ever get the feeling you've been played?
Well, that's rock for sustainable capitalism and you know, we may face a scorched and lifeless earth,
but they're accountable to their shareholders first. That's how the world works.