Million Dead - It's a Shit Business lyrics
[Million Dead - It's a Shit Business lyrics]
Why call it an artform?
It's lacquered karaoke with a
Healthy cocaine habit and
A make-up department
Why call it composition?
It's kids entertainment with a
Coterie of groupie yes-men pushing 'issues'
On the easily bemused
And I wouldn't call it aesthetic
Wouldn't call poetic not even pathetic
Might call it a spade industry
Apothecaries are poring over gaping wounds
Inside my abdomen they're cutting out the
Center area
They're cutting out the liver unaware
Of what it does can I make a confession?
After the operation I am
Certainly not satisfied with
My listening options something's moving
But the pulse is dead someone's speaking
But the crowd has left so well packaged
And over-sold still so tiring
Still so cold something moving
Yet the pulse is dead someone's speaking
They left and every teenage afternoon
Spent rifling racks in record stores
In search of gold and every compilation tape
Rerun until it broke on rusted walkman head
And every single special song
It only took two listens through
To learn the words were hours cherished
And lessons learned
But, you're the kids in the playground
Pulling hair and pointing fingers
Because your parents couldn't spoil
You with self-esteem
It's in the look in the eyes
You are a dog in the hay
But we are kicking you out a
Single beat at a time
It's lacquered karaoke with a
Healthy cocaine habit and
A make-up department
Why call it composition?
It's kids entertainment with a
Coterie of groupie yes-men pushing 'issues'
On the easily bemused
And I wouldn't call it aesthetic
Wouldn't call poetic not even pathetic
Might call it a spade industry
Apothecaries are poring over gaping wounds
Inside my abdomen they're cutting out the
Center area
They're cutting out the liver unaware
Of what it does can I make a confession?
After the operation I am
Certainly not satisfied with
My listening options something's moving
But the pulse is dead someone's speaking
But the crowd has left so well packaged
And over-sold still so tiring
Still so cold something moving
Yet the pulse is dead someone's speaking
They left and every teenage afternoon
Spent rifling racks in record stores
In search of gold and every compilation tape
Rerun until it broke on rusted walkman head
And every single special song
It only took two listens through
To learn the words were hours cherished
And lessons learned
But, you're the kids in the playground
Pulling hair and pointing fingers
Because your parents couldn't spoil
You with self-esteem
It's in the look in the eyes
You are a dog in the hay
But we are kicking you out a
Single beat at a time