Banality reins supreme
In our children’s dreams.
What do you expect
When principles defect
And brand names
Mark the scene,
When rock stars sell their souls
To executives in suits,
Make perfumes
From their dance room sweat
And wear expensive boots,
Then slap their name
On random shit
And sell how nice and cute
Their clothes look on baby girls
They know we can’t refute.
As if they write their music,
Or pen their awful hits,
Rimming souls for millions;
Tear integrity to bits.
When art is lost for money,
And the formula is the norm,
When thousands gyrate madly
To aural chloroform,
When children posture wildly
In photos with no shame
And send them to their idols
Who don’t care to carry blame,
When all we know is taken,
Corrupted and perverse,
And all our keen philanthropy
Is squeezed into a hearse,
When there’s nothing left
But adverts on our doors,
And mindless dancing robots
Falling to the floor,
Then we might just notice
How much we had to lose
When we turned our children loose
To tie up their own noose.
No matter how steep the cost,
There’s always room to climb
As soul-less music moguls
Wrangle for a dime.