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Manhattan can go to hell, and so can Brooklyn too. Indie rock's a game we play, and we pretend it's true. But it's all fun and make believe, and stupid reindeer games. To see who's cool and cutting edge, but we're all the same.
If Isaac Brock don't give a damn, then tell me why should I. Everyone will let you down, and all your heroes lie. Oh well whatever never mind the dimming of the sky. Everything grows dark in death, even the brightest eyes.
I fear these fears are justified in every single way. And we're left to rationalize the meaning of each day. But if time's a tool that we use to measure our decay. Then all I know is we creep towards death with the passing of each day.
And if all these fears are justified in every single way. All I know of who I am falls apart every way. And if all these nights of make believe mean nothing in the end. May I learn how to believe in all that is pretend.
For nothing is all that I know, and nothing's all I see. And nothing is the only thing in which I can believe. For nothing is all that I know, and nothing's all I see. And nothing is the only thing in which I can believe.
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2. |
Hi, Please.
04:48
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I'm thinking about life, I'm thinking about death, I'm thinking about my father's shallow heartbeat in his chest. And I know, Ma, you'd do anything, and you're always proud of me, but I'm weary of who I've become, and this idle life I lead. Getting fucked up every single night, and sleeping all the day, yeah, I do it all for Rock n' Roll, at least that's what I say to myself to justify this life, this endless masquerade, but when I go to sleep at night, the only thing i say is...
Where the fuck is my life going, Where the fuck is my life going, Where the fuck is my life going, Where the fuck is my life going, Where the fuck is my life going, Where the fuck is my life going, Where the fuck is my life going, Where the fuck is my life going?
Everything just means nothing, there is no future, there is no future. And everything just means nothing, there is no future, there is no future.
Guns, guns, pick up your guns, we're burning out the Sun, and we're killing everyone.
So rally together, rally on high, we'll live for tonight, for tomorrow we'll die.
So strap on your boots, and halloo your battle cry, pray to your God, and kiss your mom goodbye.
For the Thunder Road is torn to shit, and there's nowhere left to hide, so Welcome to the Jungleland, no one gets out alive.
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3. |
Leper
04:58
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And I accept I'm going to die, and die alone, unknown I'll die. A life of no repute I'll lead, and burn in anonymity.
When I was young I thought there was a meaning inside everything. A point, a plan, a purpose for, this thing we call a human being. But now I know that that's untrue, there's nobody painting the sky blue. So hang up the phone there's no one home, if ya wanna be heard it's up to you.
Hang me up alone to die, my boots are worn, and my soul doth cry. But let me lay my burden down, and stick up a middle finger to the underground. This Brooklyn DIY Scene's a cutthroat affair, they'll shun ya if they want to, and hate ya if ya care. So ready your guns, and your battle cry, and expect them to cheer, and to drink when you die...
And so punk is dead, and you're fucking next, and they'll eat you alive without a regret, and all of your dreams are going to hell, there's no fucking future, we're all going to hell! And so punk is dead, and you're fucking next, and they'll eat you alive without a regret, and all of your dreams are going to hell, there's no fucking future, we're all going to hell!
Baby, I'm walking, I'm walking alone, I'm tired of Bushwick, I'm going back home! To that two room apt. on the Upper West Side, the place I was born, and surely will die! My parents are sleepless, cramped in their bunk beds, dreamless at night there are no hopes in their heads. So don't give me this shit, like "It's tough in the streets," despite that I'm white, I've grown close to defeat. And the whiskey hits heavy so I keep my hands up, pour me another, and I'll finish my cup. And tell ya some stories ya don't want to hear, 'bout the shit that I've been through, with a wink, and a tear. And how Brooklyn's a bitch that won't let ya go, and the City's a slut tarted up for the show. So raise up your glass, and raise it up high, thank Heaven on Earth, we're all going to die!
We're all going to die!
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SHAPES New York, New York
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