Bang like the bells of Noter Damn

Crazy this doped up world, in'it? Don't let you ignore it as much as you want. Somewheres out theres is a TV plugged in to our deepest anxious pangs. All these posters are pretty and I wish I looked like strapping young man and could take a piece of that slick young thang's heart. The powers that been are smiling sickly with the knowledge that presentation is sucking the wind out our sails, no doubt. Same argument to be had when I was a boy, 'cept back then, I fell in love with those, whom by today's high-falutin' standards, are pretty much ave-er-age. Now-to-days, all the purty people are taking the place of the down-an-dirty talents that we see so few of.

Marilyn and Marlon, love you guys, but in these days of people tryin' their damndest to touch you, they ends up lookin' like parasites whomse gotta show up on reality shows in order to bask in their limelight once again under dubious circumstances. Long as people know me, I'll get to the holy holey and expidiate my particular lifestyle until I die in a rumpled mass of humiliation. Pride done left the building, ladies and gentlemen, and all that's left is the stain which will hopefully come out with a two-bit can of carpet cleaner.

Where's my heroes gone to? Nirvana was aptly named, cuz we cain't seem to get past their revolution. All since then has been that there MTV's need to control everything we hear and declare the new gods as we sit idly by and stare at Britney's jawbone, if you will. Tell the truth, I'm tired of Kurt's sacrifice, cuz it didn't lead to no good. All he did for us was give us another "tragic" hero and stop that sweet influx of newness from entering our culture. And if that's the case, then yawl ain't tryin' hard enough to find your own voice, your own ears, your own gods.

The enemy has won.