Why must we learn where we don't belong.Educationeducationeducateddeprivationfrom passionor empowermentwhy thinkwhen we are educatedwhy learnwhen we are educatedhow can wetell were so fucked upwe're only toldwhat was told to the oldwhy don't we justquantify people morejust so teachershave more goalpoststo be crushed byso they have more syllabusto compressbut gove says it's their faulttheir laziness knows no boundswhen you hang the hoop of the syllabusand tie them to the ground.
On lyricsI always felt that,in a song,the singers voicewas just another instrumentlike the drum beat or synthor that underrepresented cowbell.But they say the a picture is worth...however many wordsand anyone that workswith data compression would agreethe a word holds so much morethan the note it gets squeezed into.From your bitchin' camerosto those Streetlight songsevery set of lyricshas a unique meaninginvokes a unique feelingto at least someone.This singers may be praisedfor their aptitude in voicebut their importance is mootjust like any other devicewithout that relatable feelingbrought forth by their words.
That music won't scoreAn anacrusisacrimoniouslyaccentsthe embryonic originsof a bastardised melodyDiscordantwe record andgrind through toolsthe work of foolswith wrenched beatthat beat that kicksyour ears when they're downthe trumpethangs on notesso brownwe trample throughthat garden of soundwith no dynamicsour expressionneed not be foundevery groan from mouthsand our stupid hairand the tie on our headswe insist to wearand that gleam in our eyeswe insist to believeand though we tried to make musicwe were just too naive.
Alcho-mistAccio fermentis!Since beer was inventedPeople have been elatedor at least...drunkThis sweet malted waterthe yeast in the wort nowthe hops bring the bitternessfrom this apothecarythat's medicinelessand the young would find distastefulthis taste tilltheir friends and relationsremove their abrasionsto this wonderful and age olddubiously sage-aland best served slightly coldconcoction that is beer.
Prelude to pronouncementOn approach people think I'm scarybut further inspection finds I'm not lairyand a vegetarianmy nature is pacifismand instead of an aneurysmI'd rather give you a hugsit in the corner and smoke some drugstalk about how the government sucksbut its not badfor a democracyfounded on corruption and hypocrisyand so onand we speakin terms of faux interlectuallity...I gave poetry a goand I think I blowwith my attempts at flowI can't bring you to your kneesor turn your ears Japaneseit's my attempt to pleasemyself while I worka mental teasein a job that's a breezeotherwise I'd get brainfreezebut anyone can rhymeit's not hardto put will togetherwith some meaning,but to gleamsome individualand unique truthto everyone who's readingand hearingthat fleeting flutterof lifein this instantthatwhich is always disappearing.
I wanna be...I wanna be you vacuum cleanerbut I'm more like your chamber potexcept you don't give a shitwhether I'm here or notI wanna have a driving licencebut that would be nonsensebecause I don't have the financeand to get a carthat wouldn't ruston a minimum wagewould be a logical outrageI prefer my coffee canned and coldbut you would never be that boldbut I find the idea of hot coffee oldand mine usually end in moldor a burn tongue.You see me as an anorakor just some umbrellical toolbut I'd rather that than be cruel or a foolso I'll stay in my wombinstead of becoming your next woundI know this ship has already sailedin a transatlantic fashionI can't bear to think what would beif I only had the passionI'm like a lightening rodI'll drain away the sparkand I'll leave you in a blackoutwhen winters already darkthat's not to say I didn't tryto stick in some devotionbut the stick I have is woodyand the ground is very muddyand my words seem very shallowbut that's not t