admit it
the band say anything once shared some wise words with anyone who wanted to listen.
despite your psudeo-bohemian apperance and vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs, you know nothing about art or sex that you couldn't read in a new york underground fashion magazine. prototypical non-conformist, you are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo. you adhere to a set of standards and tastes that appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges (BULLSHIT) giving a thumbs-up or thumbs-down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of music and art.
"go analog baby!"
"you're soooo post-modern!"
you're diving face-forward into an antiquated path. it's disgusting, it's offensive, don't stick your nose up at me. you spend your time sitting in circles with your friends, pontificating to each other, forever contemplating for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory in which you hog the intellectual spotlight, holding dominion over the entire shallow, pointless conversation.
oh, we're not worthy.
when you walk by a group of quote-unqote "normal people", you chuckle to yourself, patting yourself on the back as you scoff. it's the same superiority complex shared by the high school jocks who made your lift a living hell, and makes you a slave to the competitive capatalist dogma you spend every moment of your life bitching about.
yeah? what do you have to say for yourself?
admit it.
despite your psudeo-bohemian apperance and vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs, you know nothing about art or sex that you couldn't read in a new york underground fashion magazine. prototypical non-conformist, you are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo. you adhere to a set of standards and tastes that appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges (BULLSHIT) giving a thumbs-up or thumbs-down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of music and art.
"go analog baby!"
"you're soooo post-modern!"
you're diving face-forward into an antiquated path. it's disgusting, it's offensive, don't stick your nose up at me. you spend your time sitting in circles with your friends, pontificating to each other, forever contemplating for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory in which you hog the intellectual spotlight, holding dominion over the entire shallow, pointless conversation.
oh, we're not worthy.
when you walk by a group of quote-unqote "normal people", you chuckle to yourself, patting yourself on the back as you scoff. it's the same superiority complex shared by the high school jocks who made your lift a living hell, and makes you a slave to the competitive capatalist dogma you spend every moment of your life bitching about.
yeah? what do you have to say for yourself?
admit it.