1. |
Topshop Marxists
02:07
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If the world is my oyster then I am a seabird,
with no arms and legs that can't get it's beak in.
The last layer of hell is reserved for the biggest
dicks to observe all the people in heaven.
A botched facebook status and a couple of drinks later
I'm lying awake and I'm thinking of better
ways to spend my time and not feel so damn angry,
but when your opinions are on a t-shirt there's no one to stop me.
Yes, I get it you're better than me.
Remember I said it was not meant to be,
I just want to stop this headache from hurting get down off your soapbox and just go to sleep.
The world is still turning if you're here or not, the people still starving despite your status but
whom I to judge? I'm just a waster who's staggering home clutching onto chip paper.
The ideas were attractive, the truth it was not.
The rhetoric stagnant, I don't give a fuck.
I'll climb your ivory tower just to get shot with your rifle,
I really don't care what you did with your gap year.
[even if you do like Frank Turner]
Oh now you've opinions, perhaps you would share them?
Inflict us with shit seen from your point of view.
Your schooling dictates you must not be forgotten,
must stay at the forefront of minds in the room.
Oh fuck it, you know what?
I'll just go to sleep; I'll say sorry in the morning, forget this whole thing.
But my mind it just closes when you fucking dare to try and tell me to go home after all. Go home you're drunk, Joe.
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2. |
0240
03:40
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All my friends are travelling and their friends are graduating, I'm at home in a spoons-induced stupor. The best things about a break all died, in a flood of masturbation and sleeping and GP appointments.
And I wish there were another way out of here that didn't involve all these despairing attempts at self-distraction.
Kiss at the fucking bus stop see if I care?
I'm just being nasty just look how nasty I am, I wish that I could say sorry.
All signposts point to my bedroom morning just doesn't start till 3 in the afternoon. The best thing about waking up's escaping from dreams of fucking up, or worse fucking you.
And it's strange because my forecast seemed alright, there's nothing here except seclusion and there are chips in the kitchen.
Why call me? It's fucking 20 to fucking 3.
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3. |
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4. |
Borussia Dortmund
04:55
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When there's goodies, baddies and kids in patch jackets then we are the moral majority; condemn, with righteous authority. Now days the wheat and the chaff they got mixed up, and there's no way out because it's easier not to think and just follow an ideal where the one size fits no one at all. At least as far as I can tell.
So fuck the fuckers and love the others, we might not be politicians or poets some days then I swear I'm alone. But then one day you and I we will be jaded and paying a mortgage but today, we're drinking cans on the pavement. So let's sing a sad song till we cry, and hope that there's nobody watching. No one at all.
When I was 16 I thought the word comprised us and them, red and blue; dickhead, friend or foe was defined by the badge on your lapel. When I shout you will shout louder when I speak you will speak over. Morality is a badge; a facebook picture filter I don't think that I'll ever have. Not whilst I find myself searching for my former clarity [with Against Me!].
Fuck the fuckers, and love the others.
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Little Sparta OX1 UK
Straight out the mean streets of Oxford and totally devoid of any real talent, LS tries (and fails) to convey their painfully awkward relationship with society. Telling tales of love, loss and public transport, punk rock has never sounded so tepid and mediocre. ... more
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