Garage Suicide

There is a pretentiousness in punk that I hate

How dare you say so. You bully, you fake

The meek inherited the earth

With tattoos and bullshit aches

By holding on and hiding in the already dead

The immortal blame the money suckers for their dread

Nonconformists conform and bite the neck

Hypocrisy however forever and inbred

In darkest corners, closets. under beds.

In mom’s basement before computers before creds

There were children afraid to speak up

Speak out reveal abusive and missing dads

And you took away their voices with a concept and a crowd

A new bullshit. A new nirvana. A new money making shroud

The real. Surreal. Killer of the lie

Is still inside you. Open up your eyes

No one will be there to idolize

Yet they’re right beside you. Monetized

So buy the tshirt. Buy the rag

Jump into the moshpit you stupid fag

And buy a gun in a Walmart bag

What a way into #bestrong hashtags

Forgotten tomorrow. Just like

Dead Kennedys and blackflags

10 thoughts on “Garage Suicide”

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