Art is terror
Young people are out of control
Society is crumbling
Time is moving faster and propels us toward our uncertain future
The talk is of destruction and love and memories
I can't stand it
I know you fucking planned it
Let's get this straight
Who made this?
Who did this?
Who is this?
The front pages are filled with feelings
Every night I dream of the latest fetish
Every morning I awake with the same dread
I will have to go through this all again
with my enemies
and my friends
The time we waste
and the blood we taste
will leave us content
But we remain industrious
and full of illustrious ideas for a new world