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Thronefuck - ever so generously donated from the pocket of your fathers estate.

And you being the Brown shirts. the ants, the drones, the sheep.

The machine that clicks and rotates and dings.

Just like, come on in, gather around this table, ever so generously donated.

And you being the law the crooks, the colonizers. the book.

Living vicariously through the statements of others. Foundation denied.

Built so unbeautifully, inside your defined boundaries of monuments, ribbon, iron, and ownership.

To preserve the unstoppable army of four, quit talking about your accomplishments.

Quit speaking of our collectiveness, our commonalities, quit singing.

Your music is one of prefabrication.

Of brick encrusted mortar.

An ego-trip that suits for masturbation, manufactured elsewhere.

Of fine precision, of fine persuasion, of deception.

No insurrection. no liberation. no substance. Just sound.