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KARAOKE TEXTY >>
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Million Dead >>
well i've been toning up my back for a stint against the wall, because that's where it's going to be when more towers collapse, their foundations rumbled by a badly eq-ed bass guitar. and you've clearly taken a rational, politically well-informed decision to never bother tuning up your guitar to enhance your postcard anarchism. and maybe if i spit and throw another bottle at a cartoon cop i haven't tried to understand then the fag-tax down-trodden masses will rise up to a utopia based on free alcohol. with studded wrist bands and a neatly spiked hair as a battering ram against perspex and oppression, you're a tommy hilfiger for the revolution, so who cares about the music if you pull the right styles? conservatism with no sense of rhythm, reactionaries with discharge LP's. one more power chord and the system's done for, one more pair of lace-up boots and the system's fucked for sure. so: say nothing, see nothing, hear nothing, do nothing. it's not a game to all of us. one more minor seventh and your pipedream is buttfucked and done for.
