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1. |
Accidents Happen
02:44
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Scared to submission by others' opinions
that hang like a blade above your worthless neck.
Accidents happen, and your life's one of them.
Hold on to self-hatred; it's all you have left.
Nothing comes to those who wait
if fear has put you in this state.
Insecurity never justified inaction, my friend.
Building empty rhetoric walls
to hide behind when your conscience calls,
honesty doesn't mean much to you at all.
Oh no, here we go again.
Shovel out excuses, and the bullshit never ends.
Searching for a meaningless position to defend,
better play it safe or you may end up on your own,
adrift and alone,
again.
Dreading decision in paperwork prisons,
you're pacing and turning and learning restraint.
No greater goal than to mortgage your hole,
and when you're finally done,
you've become what you hate.
How can you bear to be so predictable?
How can you live with yourself
when you won't let yourself live?
Take a nice, hard look at the reasons you give.
Honesty doesn't mean much to you;
it never did.
Keep asking questions when the answer is clear.
I've got a question: what are you doing here?
There are places you should go.
There are things you ought to know.
No one will do it for you,
so get off your ass and go!
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2. |
Happy Face
02:04
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Adjust the light for me, because I can barely see.
Everything means nothing to me;
now I've lost myself.
The ringing in my ear is beautiful to hear,
ever-changing, rearranging
what I thought was my reality.
Ineffectively, I squint my eyes to see,
looking so hard, I forgot what I'm supposed to find.
Oh, forget this shit. I get so sick of it.
You never listen to me anyway, so I say
Put on your happy face.
Pretend you like this place.
How well you fake it, how far you make it,
is all up to you.
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3. |
Bipolar
01:59
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We define identity
by means of grouping and exclusion,
protection and intrusion;
it's "us" and "them,"
and each division claims the right to
Truth
is rarely black and white;
in any given fight,
you'll find each side imperfectly defined,
or misaligned.
What do we find behind fanatical blinds?
"If you're not for me, you're against me."
But divinely labeled enemies, in truth,
are rarely what they seem,
drawn out to type extremes.
They'd like you to believe
justice is "us" and "them,"
when it's really just "us."
And isn't that just?
And so it goes: uneasy lies the head that holds
the burden of awareness,
because it's hard to pledge allegiance to the truth
inside these fear-built walls.
And it's no help at all
that fear requires so little effort,
and it's easy to divide us.
But the groups are rarely what they seem.
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4. |
Slot
02:06
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I've always wondered why you're never satisfied
until you find the proper slot to hold me,
as if some part of me depends on what you see,
as if I'm made by the words you attach to me.
Little label-name game you're calling,
narrow blind shows your mind is just as small.
Why this compulsive urge to pin me to the wall?
Words are nothing but words, after all.
Perhaps your need could be plain insecurity
mixed with a little bit of ignorant vanity.
You force a word on me and smile complacently,
happy that you'll never have to take the time
to get to know me.
I've always wondered why you're never satisfied
until you find the proper slot to hold me.
Learn to accept it, or leave me be.
It makes no difference to me,
and it won't change a thing.
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5. |
Wash
02:33
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I'll do anything it takes
to be accepted by the likes of you.
I sterilized my thoughts,
I got my politics corrected, just for you.
l promise never to offend
or say a naughty word again for you.
l promise to please everyone
in everything l think and say and do.
I am the epitome of all that is bad:
a straight white male with a mom and a dad,
American suburban kid, a product off the shelf;
yes, that's right, I'm the devil himself.
l wash until l bleed each day;
no detergent cleans the white away.
The decision was not made by me
to be part of your majority.
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6. |
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So now you got yourself a job
and you bought your own car.
You canceled your subscription to MRR.
And your new hairstyle is too sedate.
The Punk Police are on their way.
You're doing well in school, and your parents are proud.
You find yourself hanging out with the "normal" crowd.
And your membership card expires today.
The Punk Police are on their way.
It's just a different-colored flag you pledge allegiance to
(Big Brother's watching you),
a more pathetic deity to which you pray.
The Punk Police are on their way.
We heard you saying capitalism isn't so bad;
we heard you saying anarchy was just a fad;
we heard a major label called you up the other day;
the Punk Police are on their way.
The rules for our rebellion are written in stone.
complete with ten commandments
and our own dress code.
if you're convicted of normality, we'll put you away.
The Punk Police are on their way.
It's just a different kind of gang
you sell your selfhood to
(Big Brother's watching you),
a more pathetic deity to which you pray.
The Punk Police are on their way.
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7. |
Another Fine Day
03:37
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Forty-eight tiles in the ceiling above my head.
Twenty-eight classmates I'd gladly see dead.
Seventeen times I stalled my car today.
It took me thirteen months to learn to drive that way.
What a pleasant day.
Please believe me, I'm not normally this way.
It's just a phase I'm going through today.
I'll just grit my teeth until it goes away,
tell myself tomorrow is another day, anyway.
Twenty-one years since my eyes first saw light.
Twenty-one years I've loved and feared this life.
Forty-eight hours I haven't slept today.
Eighteen caffeine shots made me this way.
What a happy day.
Please believe me, I'm not normally this way.
It's just that the planets are a bit
strangely aligned today.
I'll just hold my breath until it goes away,
and tell myself tomorrow is another day, anyway.
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8. |
No Disguises
02:24
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Well, all I see, all that is me, what I believe, reality.
When I'm alone, my truth is known,
and I can see: no hope for me.
There's too much confusion in your world.
Every answer is another lie.
Is this my brain or an open grave where ideas go to die?
So what if I can't tell you why?
What I can see: no hope for me.
You thought you knew. You thought it through.
You can't believe reality.
No disguises, no surprises, nothing new to know.
Making something out of nothing,
your fear starts to show.
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9. |
Teach Me
02:32
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Welcome to the empty classroom.
An empty mouth reads words from an empty page.
Got an hour? Grab a seat;
have yourself a nap.
Hey there, Mr. Talking Head,
I might even agree with some of what you said,
but no matter what it is
you're shoving down my throat,
the impulse is to gag.
I can't tell you what I'm doing here.
I can't even claim to care.
Will someone tell me it'll be over soon?
Will someone tell me why I'm here?
Because I don't know anything anymore.
Everything I'm hearing now,
I've heard a million times before.
It's starting not to matter.
I pay you to give me time to sleep, or to write this song
I hand you a line or two, and you hand me a letter.
I don't know why I bother showing up here every day,
because it’s clear that neither of us cares.
Every day I wonder how you got this job.
Every day l wonder why you're here.
Page alter page of nothing that means anything at all,
pages of angry lines, and any way that I can find
of filling all this useless time,
killing all this wasted time.
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10. |
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He broke the rules, and showed the fools
what real freedom is.
He never tried to compromise
when they told him how to live.
A constant threat, without regret;
no apologies.
They'd look him in the eye.
they'd shake their heads and sigh,
and then they'd ask him why and he’d say
No, I don't want to be like you.
No, I will never be like you.
No, I don't want to act like you.
No, I will never act like you.
Society's lies were what he despised,
against the rules to win.
They tried and tried to look in his mind,
but he never let them in.
A lifestyle so carefree, the only way to be,
let the fun begin.
Down in flames, his life was a game,
and when they told him to grow up and be a man,
he'd laugh and answer...
Down in flames: the only way
to conclude a life that didn't play
by their rules or their regulations.
What did I learn?
I, too, will always say...
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11. |
Kill Yourself
03:10
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A life you lack, pathetic sack of constant misery.
Amazing how you find the worst in everything you see.
Whining, sighing, talk of dying,
every breath you breathe.
Go ahead and kill yourself, it just leaves more for me.
Isolate yourself and then complain that you're alone.
I know it's a cliché, but
you should reap what you have sown.
Sympathy you say you need, a plot to get attention.
I've got problems, just like you, too many to mention.
Now you know that
I have my own share of problems, too.
But my way to deal with them is to make fun of you.
It's true, it guess it's not as mature as I should be.
But you already hate yourself,
you might as well hate me.
So, life sucks for you.
That's a personal view.
If you don't like yourself,
why would anyone like you?
Finally, I'll say,
the lesson for today is
I know life's a waste of time,
but I like it anyway.
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12. |
Bodhi Tree
02:32
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Eat words because you feel you must;
what was once called trust
would be better called tragedy.
Blind eye to the pain inside
still sucks the pain away.
Hate life as a constant fight.
The challenge might just tear you down.
The downside is the only side.
Let's think the truth away.
And when the colors fade…
Broken seam on a foolish dream.
A conscious stream drags you to see:
an empty heart is smashed apart
by oppressive air of greed.
Breathe deep in a trouble sleep;
a breath can keep you fastened down.
Hold fast to ties that hate to bind;
don't let your mind run free.
And when the slate is clean,
echoes, all that's heard;
reflections, all that's seen.
That life's more than it seems,
to me, that seems to be self-evident.
That life is more than pain—
embrace the grey.
That life's a constant change,
time for time, an even trade,
that life is more than hate—
embrace the grey
and everything goes away.
And when the colors fade,
everything goes grey.
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13. |
Streak
03:09
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Predatory humans come prepackaged in a city of lights,
depressing cityscapes, a habitat unnatural.
They sustain a diet of a sadomasochistic design
by plugging in to TV talk shows and infocommercials.
Some kind of fear reaction causes them to group together
and look for weaker things to ridicule.
Meanwhile, imaginary monetary deities
are prayed to daily in the public schools.
So handle with care, the zoos are getting full.
These hairless monkeys can be unpredictable.
Please don't feed the animals;
we've got to keep them weak.
Don't want to fuel that vicious streak.
Predatory humans come imprisoned in a city of steel.
They circle through a maze
of meaningless and mindless routine.
Slaved to a runaway technology,
they're chained to the Wheel
and dragged along behind the juggernaut of Industry.
Some portion of the population tries to keep the peace
as government just falls to pieces.
The opportunist carnivores begin the feeding frenzy,
but the prey has already been swept to sea.
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14. |
Narrow
03:57
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Open
or be beaten down.
Resistance is not an option,
not in fashion,
negative action.
Acceptance
or die along the way.
The circle is one-sided.
Your mind is locked and blinded.
You fear what you don't understand.
The conflict is one-sided,
the verdict undecided.
If words will never win this war,
the score will still be settled.
Words are easy to say.
Hope is driven away.
Watch your children at play
and learn a lesson.
They know what you can't say.
They see a different way:
it's just a shade.
We are all the same.
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whatever... Cleveland, Ohio
whatever... was a Cleveland band in the 1990s. We opened for lots of great acts (e.g., Jawbox, Bosstones, Samiam) and even
had a following of our own. Really, if you went to a Cleveland punk show in the mid-'90s, chances are pretty good you saw us. This is the stuff we were playing early on.
You can also hit either of the below links to buy the band's final album, Youngsters, on Amazon or iTunes.
... more
whatever... recommends:
Lorem Ipsum
by Johnny High Ground
Johnny High Ground is Joe's current music project. Also check out Fish's band, Ohio Civil War: www.reverbnation.com/ohiocivilwar
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Guerra de Miradas
by Ola La Meta
Fuzzy garage pop from Madrid is noisy, melodic, and great.
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