To be common place would be unique,

but we're so obscure we're incoherent,

like toungeless vigilantes choking

just to make you choke. Rattling, rattling.

No nails to hold ideas in place,

no expression on your face.

Music and her patrons are dead and

irrelevant, like osteoporosis, she is

brittle. She is broken.

Static comes through synthesizers, megaphones

and drum machines.

Beauty sounds like smashed guitars, and several

references to feedback. Rattling, rattling.

No surgery to save your life.

No promise that everything's all right.

Music and her patrons are dead and

irrelevant, like osteoporosis, she is

brittle. She is broken.

Languages must be organic,

because like flies they fall and die.

Music now sleeps.

Languages must be organic,

because like flies they fall and die.

Music now sleeps,

with Latin and Aramaic.

It's over, it's over.

No more waiting for something to live for.

It's over, it's over.

Everything is dying and we want something more.