Lyrics

Here´s some new lyrics, which I wrote after Sam, one of my closest friends, died at the age of just 21 on June 6th.

 

We Are Nothing

In a science class in 1997 i learnt that the average life span of a fly was just under 11 days,
but now, 12 years down the line, that little fact doesn´t mean too much to me
And in a recent report it was found that the average life span of a man in the UK was just over 76.1 years of age,
but when a close friend of mine dies 55 years before that date well, these little facts, mean fuck all to me

Yet we talk about philosophy and we try to understand, we put pieces of cloth on sticks and claim our rights to land,
and we talk about culture yeah we love to feel so cultured, we love to look so smart, and we talk about existence and then we talk about resistance and we all try to play our part
We talk of solidarity, we talk about community, we all talk about keeping that flame well lit, and we all talk about freedom, peace and anarchism yet we still treat each other like shit
We talk about religion and we talk about war y´know I feel like i´ve had this conversation a million times before, and we talk about God and we talk about the soul but we´re all just trying to find ways to fill up that hole that sits in our hearts, in our hearts, in our hearts and in our heads. In our hearts, in our hearts, in our hearts, in the spaces next to us as we lie in our empty single beds.

But we can look up at the sky for as long as we like but it´ll never explain as to why we all feel so fucking miserable. Or why I feel so tired all the time. Or why when people ask me how I am I feel the need to talk shit and say stuff like ´yeah, im great, im good, i´m doing fine´, im not, im not, im really not.

Y´know maybe if we could just – shut the fuck up, well then we might find a way to actually have something decent to say.

We talk about the future and we talk about the past, we talk about the present and making all these moments last. We take photographs, we record videos, we try to stop time or at least make it feel slow and when we find love we never want it to end, put rings on fingers, get married and pretend that we´re all so happy that we´re all so fine, we smile for the camera and forget that time is moving on, moving on, moving on, moving on. A sharp intake of breath, oh its gone. It´s gone, its gone, it is all fucking gone.

We are nothing. We are nothing. And this is all far too embarassing.

I´m so sick of all these thoughts running through my head, I hide beneath the sheets and look at the clock next to my bed; it says “5 a.m”. I miss you, I dont think I will ever see you again.

Here’s some other new lyrics;

Oh, Judy!

I was a pre-teen gender dropout. Y’know, it’s good to have these things that we can all talk about. Cause talking is a good thing to do. Yeah, talking is a great thing to do. It’s through the act of talking that we can truly understand all of these micro-power relations that affect me and you.
For instance, back in the year of 1993, there was a smaller, cuter version of me. And for Christmas that year my mam and dad decided that they would buy me a doll (with blonder curly hair), commonly designed for use by a girl aged 3 years and above. I just called that doll Sue, well, I mean what the fuck is a young boy supposed to do? 
And, although I didn’t realise it, that little act I took part in at the tender age of five was an attempt to subvert the gender structures that had been guiding me since the day I was alive.
After all, trying to fit in is just so fucking boring. It must be noted that;

“when the constructed status of gender is theorized as radically independent of sex, gender itself becomes a free floating artifice, with the consequence that man and masculine might just as easily signify a female body as a male one, and woman and feminine a male body as easily as a female one”
(Butler: 1990: 6)

Yeah. Ok. I agree.

Although of course I admit that i’m not infallible, I admit that I continue to fuck up. The amount of times i’ve heard a sexist remark and just kept my mouth shut….But I recognise the problem, and i’m looking for the solution.

And I refuse to be a man (i don’t really care if you don’t understand). I refuse to be a box on an insurance claims form, or any binary/essentialist/etc standard of the norm.
All of you heterosexist motherfuckers can just go and fuck yourselves.
All of you heterosexist fatherfuckers can just go and fuck yourselves.

Oh, Judy…..

 

Please Stop Calling This Shit ‘Regeneration’

The dust is circling, and the buildings have crumbled in on themselves. And theres a taste of petrol in my mouth. Y’know, I don’t think i’ve ever felt so good in all of my fucking life. And then I wake up.

If I see one more Debenhams superstore today I think i’m going to scream. If I see one more fucking Millies cookie stall I think i’m going to go and find my nearest town councillor and slap them in the face, and thus provide a favour for future generations of this doomed human race.

I’ve discovered the reason for my frustration lies within your gentrification, you’re turning beautiful spaces into glass and chrome disasters, endless cityscapes where ‘thy consumer is thy master’. But Thy Holy Argos Catalogue will be burning up the atmosphere and keeping me warm tonight.

If this is the best we can do, then we’ve got a long way to go before things feel right. If this is the best we can do, then we’d best start burning down each city centre tonight.

But y’know this city has a heart and its not in these walls, its not in the grim depression of your shopping malls, its not in your marketing executives, or your discount drink offers of ‘2 for a quid!’, it’s all consumerist shit….and I really don’t wanna be a part of it.

I’ve got a satchel bag full of Derrida and Foucault, i’ve got everything to do i’ve got nowhere to go. I’ve got a satchel bag full of Butler and Foucault, i’ve got nothing to do but everywhere to go. But it is fine, it is fine, it is fine, it is fine.

I’d rather rise my BMX through downtown south central Los Angeles than through your yuppified neighbourhood any day of the fucking week.

 

The Eternal Adolescence

Sunday morning. Sat on the couch.
One bowl of cereal and a stranger in my house. There’s a stranger in my bed looking for some fun, theres a stranger in myself in my own reflection.
The other day I went and knocked on your front door. I didn’t realise that you don’t live there anymore. It was all painters, it was all decorators.
They were putting new carpets down on your old living room floor.

Do you remember the time that night when I fell out of your bed and you held me tight under the blanket that your mam brought back from Spain? After that night, we just weren’t the same.

Because you turned to me and you said; “Can we be grown ups now?”.
I looked back at you, but all I could stutter was that; “I-I-I-I-I don’t know how”.
I just don’t know how.

Now we’re both a little bit older than before, we’ve got everything we wanted but we still want more. We all need someone to hold on to late at night, we all need someone to tell us that everything is going to be all right.

But it’s hard not being able to lend a hand.
It’s hard being 21 and not knowing where you stand.
It’s hard being socially crippled and without any luck.
It’s hard when you just don’t want to grow up.