It had an unbridled joy
Screaming guitars, weeping
As the current flowed through
Pickups, feedback and tremolo
Arm distortion, a cacophony of
Chords, played by would be
Rock stars, accompanied by
Thundering drums and a base
Turned up to number eleven,

It wasn't about the music, it
Was about the noise, the energy
Generated by hundreds of sweaty
Bodies out for blood, out with
The boys, nothing pleasant here
An outpouring of emotion, beyond
The pale, it exists in us all, but
Only some could tap the source, for
A chance to be a three minute hero.

Commercialisation won in the end
Bringing the ugly monster to its
Knees begging for fortune, craving
More fame, as soon as the track was
Recorded punk died on a mixing desk,
Some kept a little kudos, pretending
Not to play the game, some died trying
To be an eternal flame, some are there
Still, banging out the good old days.