TheDeceased
Ex-Bluelighter
The silver screen steals more ideas than it provides
And long since our brains were replaced by steam trains
It seems to me that the thinkers oughta hide
For fear of being syndicated, replicated
Then incarcerated for stealing their own ideas
Sampling old tracks and then pressing buttons qualifies as a form of art all of a sudden
And composing a sonnet won’t impress your peers
Three cheers for the DJ and fuck the record
Fuck guitars and drums, fuck lyrics and chords
Give me a beat over Mozart or Bach
Something with a fistful of whack
A song about bitches and gangsters’ gold riches
A series of words as fast as Chris Tucker
A beat and a rhyme, let’s go, mother fucker!
Cause computers are replacing all functions, but failing
To have gone for a walk, to have laughed or gone sailing
The things that are now performing all tasks
Won’t see the future, the present or past
They don’t understand the beauty in life
And though they won’t rob you or run off with your wife
That don’t mean that they’re to be trusted
Evolution uprgrades but since stainless steel
They run and run without getting rusted
Who knew when they invented the wheel
That it’d evolve and learn to self-heal
While we sun-baked and watched our skin peel
Feel outraged? Well, never fear
For they are happy to translate your tears
The automated age has a smiley for rage
And it’s printed, in colums and rows cross the page
Can’t you see? Your voice is still heard!
Now silent perhaps, in lines and typed words
But still you have hundreds of friends in your box
Who, ‘luminated by screens, in shame, touch their cocks
Though depraved and alone, they still wouldn’t visit
Unless, or course, it’s within bandwith limit
Cause posting an envelope written by hand
Is like travelling back in time to a land
Where dinosaurs roamed
And we picked up the phone
When somebody needed a hand
Now, a new thread will do
And thousands will listen... or read, rather
As you bitterly announce the death of your father
And you know the cursor won’t stay blinking forever
It’ll leave you no time to successfully sever your arm or your head
No time to inject yourself full of lead
Or cut your wrists right through to the bone
No, dear loser, you’re not alone
For connected through wires crossing the globe
Are millions like you, with bulging front lobes
All staring at pixels and clicking on links
Without enough time left over to blink
Or worry about if your shit really stinks
Pop references fly to the top of the charts
And the funniest jokes on tele are farts
Our critics are teens and art isn’t art
Cause smart is now dumb and dumb is now smart
If Warhol was alive, then he’d be our king
Preaching to crowds while saying nothing
Cause we’ve regressed to the state when we emerged from the sea
Except instead of mud in our ears, it’s iPods
And instead of the sun in our eyes, it’s fucking TV!
And long since our brains were replaced by steam trains
It seems to me that the thinkers oughta hide
For fear of being syndicated, replicated
Then incarcerated for stealing their own ideas
Sampling old tracks and then pressing buttons qualifies as a form of art all of a sudden
And composing a sonnet won’t impress your peers
Three cheers for the DJ and fuck the record
Fuck guitars and drums, fuck lyrics and chords
Give me a beat over Mozart or Bach
Something with a fistful of whack
A song about bitches and gangsters’ gold riches
A series of words as fast as Chris Tucker
A beat and a rhyme, let’s go, mother fucker!
Cause computers are replacing all functions, but failing
To have gone for a walk, to have laughed or gone sailing
The things that are now performing all tasks
Won’t see the future, the present or past
They don’t understand the beauty in life
And though they won’t rob you or run off with your wife
That don’t mean that they’re to be trusted
Evolution uprgrades but since stainless steel
They run and run without getting rusted
Who knew when they invented the wheel
That it’d evolve and learn to self-heal
While we sun-baked and watched our skin peel
Feel outraged? Well, never fear
For they are happy to translate your tears
The automated age has a smiley for rage
And it’s printed, in colums and rows cross the page
Can’t you see? Your voice is still heard!
Now silent perhaps, in lines and typed words
But still you have hundreds of friends in your box
Who, ‘luminated by screens, in shame, touch their cocks
Though depraved and alone, they still wouldn’t visit
Unless, or course, it’s within bandwith limit
Cause posting an envelope written by hand
Is like travelling back in time to a land
Where dinosaurs roamed
And we picked up the phone
When somebody needed a hand
Now, a new thread will do
And thousands will listen... or read, rather
As you bitterly announce the death of your father
And you know the cursor won’t stay blinking forever
It’ll leave you no time to successfully sever your arm or your head
No time to inject yourself full of lead
Or cut your wrists right through to the bone
No, dear loser, you’re not alone
For connected through wires crossing the globe
Are millions like you, with bulging front lobes
All staring at pixels and clicking on links
Without enough time left over to blink
Or worry about if your shit really stinks
Pop references fly to the top of the charts
And the funniest jokes on tele are farts
Our critics are teens and art isn’t art
Cause smart is now dumb and dumb is now smart
If Warhol was alive, then he’d be our king
Preaching to crowds while saying nothing
Cause we’ve regressed to the state when we emerged from the sea
Except instead of mud in our ears, it’s iPods
And instead of the sun in our eyes, it’s fucking TV!
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