When there is no more room in hell, the hip shall walk the streets __ ________. There's now a thin line between punk and poser, between the unbearably hip and those who try too hard. Everyone's an artist: everyone's unique. Everyone is stylish; at least just for the week. So let's take these streets back. Read between the lines and don't ignore the signs: YOUR CITY IS DROWNING IN BULLSHIT.
Track Name: Not Cool
Let's say that I'm alone, I'm all alone and panicked over the thought that this is as good as it's gonna get. Our younger selves would say it's a nightmare, our younger selves would say, "Look at us now: we've failed." Now we grow up and get steady jobs and pay our taxes. Get 401k's; a big house with a picket fence, then we forget each other's names. We might as well just kill ourselves.
Track Name: Start Terror, Then We'll Talk
If you've got a backpack and a matching SnapBack, start a hardcore band and spread the message of XbrotherhoodX. Let your people know it's one for the money, two for the show. But if two's not enough; then our scene is done for. So pull your scene together, don't let it fall apart. Do not let the image compromise your art. It's just a fist in the face of irony.
Track Name: [title track]
And is this what I needed: the empty promise of friendship. The record that skips a thousand beats. Repeating the same few lines about real talks and realer friends. Everyone is laughing, everyone is judging, does anybody care? And it's now I know that there is something wrong with me and if I don't fix it it will fucking kill me. How do we make amends when we ignore the ends to our own stories? How do we break apart what has already been broken down? There is something wrong with me, it will be the death of me.