Listen as you tell me not to listen to you--
you build a punk society.
You continue to construct what you’re trying to pull down.
You’re building a fucking empire
by the number of your piercings and the height of your Mohawk.
You’re ruining a mighty legacy
by deafening it with fashion and conforming to your own kind.
It’s the girl in the church with the "Fuck Jesus" shirt.
The professor who decides to teach against the grain.
It’s the lemming that lives and the martyr that dies
like a lone beacon of light, like a snowflake in the sky.
Not the materialistic music industry.
Not the poseurs and the marketers who want to buy your soul.
Not the "punks" who put down legends for "American Lesions."
Not complacent wasted hackneyed punks who dress for the show.