industrious.

All my favorite shouters are in rehab. No more hitchhiked tours or basement shows.
No more bruised acoustics, or frantic howls.
So I guess I’m all alone now.

The ones left breathing play in plastic coliseums, but that’s only betrayal. I’ve never had that kind of money and I guess that’s what it’s all about. But now I won’t be at your show, and I hope you miss me but I know you won’t. I didn’t think it could ever cost me so much, getting my ass kicked to a punk song.

So fuck off. There’s no such thing as a sell-out and we’re all trying to survive.
I know the others have dried up and died.

We’ve all killed the music industry.