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We don't really matter! when we will is a while off/
We're dust collected to legs bred to fuck and eat mild sauce/
Corrupted in our heads. Fed to the public whose now lost/
Wipe the brow off from the sweat that formed from such an elegant beast we created, crated and tossed/
Left for the thorough we blame for decay to sustain while claiming its gone/
But the song never changes/
The faces grew mustaches and accents/
And take action again the fistful who won't sing along/
And I refuse to hum this evil! Seen (my) heroes widdle down to "Town Fools"/
Drowned in dumbed drool after I found I won't talk to stupid people/
So where does that leave me? Don't lynch the subversive!!!/
Or mention a wordsmith with a penchant for pinning a person/
Like the weight of the words should be third grade and thats real?/
I've studied the cracks of her lips like paintings and noticed the only thing fading is critics saying that its fading and that's ill/
The standard staple for hating. Murals drawn across the "gracious" hands shaking the hands of the greatest/
Now tell me how does that feel?/

I used to be a Radiohead now Radio's dead. MTV found him belly up on the bed
Gun's made of television. Used to try to tell him "listen"
Clear Channel leaks out of Radio's head
I used to be a Radiohead now Radio's dead. BET found him belly up on the bed
Gun's made of television. Used to try to tell him "listen"
Clear Channel leaks out of Radio's head

Stare at this tortured child bejeweled. Drums tuned drone. Soon the dance starts/
Clowns depart adult shell at canned laughter after the arts drove fleeting/
Hands dirty from selecting elected "Ancient" by an Off and On Season/
On the otherside of the looking glass the ghost in the shells bleeding/
I've seen steam leaving the eyes of an honest man. His hand continued devoid reason/
Emasculated masses mastered the art of half heart so second nature I sometime fear speaking/
Seeing such is the passage of time.../
It's said, amongst the assorted static, I'm saddened wondering whether time keeps curtains open for fame?/
Or fading to black is fashion?/
They were just here!!! Yet the foot prints barely lasted like a good year rarely happens/
Shadows of a bygone era of "Almost Heroes" in flashes/
Binary killed the Urban Legend and left them faceless/
Some say its the seedless gluttonous consumption divorced from travel/
A privelage antithetical to this cultures collage of hunger... perhaps this is just babble/
"If you stand on your own, people will sit and watch" I often say as often amongst this worker ant youth/
I wish would break shell/
I understand now, the grass is greener it just decays well/

I used to be a Radiohead now Radio's dead. MTV found him belly up on the bed
Gun's made of television. Used to try to tell him "listen"
Clear Channel leaks out of Radio's head
I used to be a Radiohead now Radio's dead. BET found him belly up on the bed
Gun's made of television. Used to try to tell him "listen"
Clear Channel leaks out of Radio's head

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from Analog​(​ue) Tape Dispenser SKECH185 : New Age Middle Finger, released March 1, 2011
Produced by Analog(ue) Tape Dispenser
Written by SKECH185

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SKECH185 Brooklyn, New York

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