The last to speak a dying tongue haunts these halls alone Just to hear familiar tones But finds only dialects unknown It’s never home Though it helps suspend the troubling belief That no longer does anyone feel anything but me The last to speak a dying tongue shouts bygone prose alone While the morons march Well merchandised Into a black hole In their sublingual race to be the first to find poorer posture in space “The end is neigh!” says the old timer So hear me now This is a tribal split from the status quo Cause we know that the personal is the political So let’s tell ‘em now We don’t comply We don’t abide By rules and roles that leave us misdefined We’re the poor and pissed off Fucked up and ripped off Don’t lift off We can transcend In these rare moments The blows that the world strikes upon us Authentically With fluency
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This song was inspired by the short story The Marching Morons by C. M. Kornbluth, the mental voids out there ushering in a new low in hardcore with their awe inspiringly uninspired brands, and the mouth breathing hype hungry jagg offs that support them. Oh... did I say brands? I meant "b-a-n-d-s".