Underbite - text
So how you fuckin’ feeling tonight?
We’re ( insert name here ) from unimportant,
and I’m about to mimic some image of a rock and roll
singer I have under lock and key.
Without the faintest hint of irony that
I’m flashing my pearly whites to sustain my mediocrity.
So is everyone having a good time tonight?
Good, I’m glad (I couldn’t actually careless).
You guys are the best crowd that we’ve ever seen,
seen with these old dead eyes.
Blind to the stage or even my own lies.
So hey ho, let’s go.
Let’s start this contemptible “rock” show.
Blinding lights to hide the hand up our ass
in this puppet-sock show.
Two sewn on eyes, repurposed and made new,
torn from an aging suit for a sense of déjà vu.
I bite my fucking thumb, and hope you
catch a thread, and slowly come undone.
An illusion seldom spoken.
An understanding between you and I that
the ground that you stand on
is somehow less than mine.
An allusion to a broken home, left on the
street and chilled to the bone.
So hey, we still feeling good?
Now you comprehend our complex relationship — consumer/consumed.
You’re just some stupid kid and I’m a megalomaniac.
Here comes that tortured
artist now to sing of his despair.
Shedding defenses for an honest creation.
Placing yourself in the stocks on the strap.
your effort by conforming to textbook
performance of music to fill in
the gaps, and it’s bullshit.
Be honest, this can’t be what you
wanted, if what you write about means anything to you.
Rather than pure vanity, people might connect with sincerity.
Don’t just pray the next generation learns
from our mistakes.
Let’s not repackage the same old performance.
Original content is so much more rewarding.
I know that it might be quite cliché,
but if all the world is in fact a stage, then this
stage—this here goddamn stage—might just be all the world.
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- Plato's Tripartite
- A Life Embossed
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