It’s a Shit Business Million Dead

Why call it an artform?
It's lacquered karaoke with a
Healthy cocaine habit and a make-up department
Why call it composition?
It's kids entertainment with a
Coterie of groupie yes-men pushing 'issues' on the easily bemused
And I wouldn't call it aesthetic
Wouldn't call poetic
Not even pathetic
Might call it a spade
Industry
Apothecaries
Are poring over gaping wounds inside my abdomen
They're cutting out the
Center area
They're cutting out the liver unaware of what it does
Can I make a confession?
After the operation I am
Certainly not satisfied with
My listening options

Something's moving
But the pulse is dead
Someone's speaking
But the crowd has left
So well-packaged
And over-sold
Still so tiring
Still so cold
Something moving
Yet the pulse is dead
Someone's speaking
They left
And every teenage afternoon
Spent rifling racks in record stores in search of gold
And every compilation tape
Rerun until it broke on rusted walkman head
And every single special song
It only took two listens through to learn the words
Were hours cherished
And lessons learned
But you're the kids in the playground pulling hair and pointing fingers
Because your parents couldn't spoil you with self-esteem
It's in the look in the eyes
You are a dog in the hay
But we are kicking you out a single beat at a time