The last to speak a dying tongue haunts these halls alone
Just to hear familiar tones
But finds only dialects unknown
It’s never home
Though it helps suspend the troubling belief
That no longer does anyone feel anything but me
The last to speak a dying tongue shouts bygone prose alone
While the morons march
Well merchandised
Into a black hole
In their sublingual race to be the first to find poorer posture in space
“The end is neigh!” says the old timer
So hear me now
This is a tribal split from the status quo
Cause we know that the personal is the political
So let’s tell ‘em now
We don’t comply
We don’t abide
By rules and roles that leave us misdefined
We’re the poor and pissed off
Fucked up and ripped off
Don’t lift off
We can transcend
In these rare moments
The blows that the world strikes upon us
Authentically
With fluency
--
This song was inspired by the short story The Marching Morons by C. M. Kornbluth, the mental voids out there ushering in a new low in hardcore with their awe inspiringly uninspired brands, and the mouth breathing hype hungry jagg offs that support them. Oh... did I say brands? I meant "b-a-n-d-s".
