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Atlas Shrugged

by The Prophet Motive

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1.
There has got to be a way to stop performing destructive tasks without any semblance of warning I see some taking flight while I'm still walking home If I had the choice I wouldn't live this over, 'cause I've lived how I want Been fucked up and been sober I have earned my share of sad wounds cutting deep to bone (Woah-oh) Don't be talked out of taking the path that resonates with you (Woah-oh) Don't be talked down to I cracked a kind of code the day I turned away from roads Started down a tumble, stumble-footed course I know If I had the choice I wouldn't live this over, 'cause I've lived how I want Been fucked up and been sober I'd toe the line but it feels so goddamned hollow (Woah-oh) Don't be talked out of taking the path that resonates with you (Woah-oh) Don't be talked down to (Woah-oh) Don't be talked out of taking the path that resonates with you (Woah-oh) Don't be talked down to I cracked a kind of code the day I turned away from roads Started down a tumble, stumble-footed course I know There has got to be a way to stop performing destructive tasks without any semblance of warning I see some taking flight while I'm still walking home (Woah-oh) Don't be talked out of taking the path that resonates with you (Woah-oh) Don't be talked down to If I had the choice I wouldn't live this over, 'cause I've lived how I want Been fucked up and been sober I'd toe the line but it feels so goddamned hollow
2.
It was the fourth time the flag fell. '45 in the Capital Forefathers fled, trembling, to ships; adorned in life-jackets of cement Nationalism chiseled with insular symbols (Designed) To crush moral compasses An Empire's Greatest Accomplishment We trample any outsiders in the blind haste to define ourselves Kororāreka left behind - axe blades on flag poles swing through time To the ship's hold where we cower on water that is eating at the hull In our blindness we'll define our own hell We never left those ports - we're still on the waters Is that why we don't know this land? Nor where we are or have been We justify the poverty - privileged and pissed off and lost as all fuck We trample any outsiders in the blind haste to define ourselves Kororāreka left behind - axe blades on flag poles swing through time To the ship's hold where we cower on water that is eating at the hull In our blindness we'll define our own hell Are we in trinkets and on labels for biscuits? Or in birds of night we've never seen? In the emblems on a cloth for an Empire lost? Or in stories cloaked in omittances to hide the obscene? (Are we just) Culture is something to sell when you're immune to the abuse of cards you've dealt to yourself (Birds of night?) Culture is all you can sell - consumed and confused that we don't know ourselves We trample any outsiders in the blind haste to define ourselves Kororāreka left behind - axe blades on flag poles swing through time To the ship's hold where we cower on water that is eating at the hull In our blindness we'll define our own hell
3.
Sink your teeth into the heart of my own dead fate, feel the last of its life-force fade My blood simmers in God's saucepan, I boil away in a broth of my bones and brains But I have lingered long enough here feeling nothing's OK Picked apart the myth of my days There's no need to go on replicating old mistakes I've been re-born and died a million small ways God takes a knife out of the drawer and brandishes the blade, he pares me down to nothing but bait He scoops me up and swallows whole the life I thought I'd made Sates his hunger by ingesting my pain But I have lingered long enough here feeling nothing's OK Picked apart the myth of my days There's no need to go on replicating old mistakes I've been re-born and died a million small ways Come on and pick my carcass to find my faith, buried three feet deep in a shallow grave Hallowed ground, whittled down, I'm fucking hell bound But if I'm in hell now does it even really count? Come on and pick my carcass to find my faith, buried three feet deep in a shallow grave Hallowed ground, whittled down, I'm fucking hell bound But I'm in hell now... And I have lingered long enough here feeling nothing's OK Picked apart the myth of my days There's no need to go on replicating old mistakes I've been re-born and died a million small ways, I've been re-born and died a million small ways I've been re-born and died a million small ways
4.
Pretexts of fucks given. Mind on coffee and a dart Stare down the train tracks with thoughts of simply stepping out Another pair of shoes has gone to ground Slapped flat to the feet on another weekly round Increasingly defeated at the edges. All tongue but no sole to speak about No you don't hate Mondays - you hate Capitalism No you don't hate Mondays - you hate Capitalism Pitched in a dog-whistle. Ever more ears pricking up Live out a lifetime up on the tray of the Hilux Summon up with will to clamber down The safety of the pack? Or the chaos of the crowd? Increasingly belligerent, defensive All teeth but no bite to bark about You don't hate your country - you hate Patriotism You don't hate your country - you hate Patriotism No you don't hate Mondays - you hate Capitalism Oh you don't hate Mondays, no The relentless routines. The dying embers of your dreams Is a lie aspirational? Will you die keeping your glass half full? x2 You don't hate your nation - you hate Nationalism You don't hate your nation - you hate Nationalism No you don't hate Mondays - you hate Capitalism Oh you don't hate Mondays, no
5.
Paula, baby, why you chill my heart Went from welfare cheque to Party Credit Card And you never stopped grubbing, called it "working hard," Now you give the middle finger to the working class Don't forget your roots when you're shopping for suits Paula, honey, how'd you stray so far? Must have took a wrong turn, ditched your leopard print car There's people crying for some help, who they think they are? Socially undeveloped in their blackened hearts Don't forget the streets from your minister's seat Paula, your hair looks great though Oh, your hair looks great though You couldn't beat them so you joined them You couldn't beat them so you joined in, Paula Knuckle in mouth give your morals away at the expense of those Who live where you were raised; do you remember their names? Don't forget your roots when you're counting your loot Don't forget the people Paula, baby, why you chill my heart Went from welfare cheque to Party Credit Card And you never stopped grubbing, called it "working hard," Now you give the middle finger to the working class
6.
Keep Digging 03:33
Come on, lay your money down You’ve a whole new soul to feed It’s hard to stake out higher ground When you’ve grown old knowing only defeat So if you think hope is just a dream, then I’ve seen the end in the remains of your teeth Yeah if you think hope never set you free, then I’ve seen the end in the remains of your teeth Spinning lights on a dire frown You’re as barren as a patch of winter trees When you’re your last two dollars down How will you endure as your poor son weeps? Jackpots don’t cut it now Tail-eating snakes just up the stakes while the wheel spins 'round I hear his mother in there yelling And there’s no telling where this roll might end Just know that I still love you now, like I always loved you then So if you think hope is just a dream, then I've seen the end in the remains of your teeth Yeah if you think hope never set you free, then I've seen he end in the remains of your teeth So if you think hope is just a dream, then I've seen the end in the remains of your teeth Yeah if you think hope never once set you free, then I've seen the end in the remains of your teeth
7.
I don’t own a thing so I won’t last long Been the same old shtick for thirty years You’d think we’d grow up and move on An enigma rising silent from the swamp We’ve evolved ourselves beyond orthodoxy Now everything we do is wrong I don’t believe a word you say (You don’t know what we’re thinking) Refuse to ever play the game (But you think we’re wrong) Refuse to concede there’s no better way (Let’s all go out drinking!) You won’t listen since radio won’t play this song I don’t look the part so it won’t catch on Been a fashion show for decades now, it’s not about the songs With a face that looks much better in a fog And my hairline fading like an icecap What good would being seen bring on? I don’t believe a word you say (You don’t know what we’re thinking) Refuse to ever play the game (But you think we’re wrong) Refuse to concede there’s no better way (Let’s all go out drinking!) You won’t listen since radio won’t play this song (Guitar solo) I don’t believe a word you say (You don’t know what we’re thinking) Refuse to ever play the game (But you think we’re wrong) Refuse to concede there’s no better way (Let’s all go out drinking!) You won’t listen since radio won’t play this song
8.
Bury The 'I' 03:53
Probably should go outside, promised her to quit the cigs. Taking time to fantasize replaces time taken to think. Too good for social media, too depressed to talk face-to-face. Nails picking dead skin; sitting still is a plan replaced. Tendency to hoard a father's angry silences Colour in the counter space You're worth every second wasted Struggling under own weight, folding in to itself. Anxiety's a process You're worth every second wasted The TV beats as hooves heralding the town that time moves me through. They say you marry your parents; she hates her dad, she'll hate you too. Digging in the heals each day, growing more bitter than wise. Dragging stagnant, apathetic to the lead in the race to die Tendency to hoard a father's angry silences Colour in the counter space You're worth every second wasted Struggling under own weight, folding in to itself. Anxiety's a process You're worth every second wasted You're worth every second wasted
9.
You mean to tell me substance equals spin? That propaganda's a win? Stress feeding on my tension. My countrymen, they love their fiction. The road to Parnell is paved with good intentions... If artifice is art then I'm living a pointless life. Blind to learning all your lessons. Punk and politics: there's no distinction. The road to Parnell is paved with good intentions... And I'll admit that I'm at a loss for what to say when they crow, "This is a course we ought to stay!" 'Cause I live amongst the people everyday, in this vindictive, forgetful fucking rain. It feels like we're on the road to hell Maybe I should stick to my knitting, there's a club we need to fit in Less intellectual dissection should lead us in the right direction! The road to Parnell is paved with good intentions... And I'll admit that I'm at a loss for what to say when they crow, "This is a course we ought to stay!" 'Cause I live amongst the people everyday, in this vindictive, forgetful fucking rain. It feels like we're on the road to hell You mean to tell me substance equals spin? That propaganda's a win? Stress feeding on my tension. My countrymen, they love their fiction. The road to Parnell, the road to Parnell, it feels like we're on the road to hell.
10.
...Still battling against the rising tide of indifference that has sauntered up the sand and passed on to the grasslands. Into fertile soil it seeps its poison and we dig the dirt like it's oil we're searching for; a civilisation of Exxon Mobils - just now shit out of luck and cognitively fucked - we shovel the results into piles. In the midst of our glorious work we rest on shovel handles and cluck our tongues as the human dregs we've created beg on scraped knees for any meager scraps to take back to hungry kids, but we still don't want to part with our bigoted pronouncements like, "We need to scrap the whole Welfare Department," "They never deserved the help to start with," "The cost of all these handouts is disastrous," and I don't even know where to start with that. It's just that the prevailing sentiment is sending me to despair; too many nights I've spent bemused by all their declarations. Imagine my frustration as these very same outspoken drones are fired from their worker-ant roles, then proceed to shuffle and supplicate for the money they're owed to help them pay the ticks on their homes. There but for good fortune you go.
11.
I’ve now got sixteen years of ideation that will not leave my head Thanks to those who advocate for praying at the altar of modern man Absorb it by osmosis, my organs playing all the chords To the most hopeless songs ever written There might be seven sins but you’d committed more than them When they said your passion fled it was no wonder you were struggling You took off on one final drive, we felt all our worst dreams arrive Deep sleep panics; deep grief flares and I can’t close my eyes Time is passing faster than I bargained for You’ve been gone now half as long as I’ve been alive At a few different moments I came close to goodbye The deep sleep panics; that deep grief, man it still fucks with my mind I take Armistice Curses and channel them into my verses Fleshing out the words to make sense of your whole sad history There’s infinite potential to make something substantial Out of the deep sleep panics; bittersweet magic keeps fueling/fooling my drive Time is passing faster than I bargained for You’ve been gone now half as long as I’ve been alive At a few different moments I came close to goodbye The deep sleep panics; that deep grief, man it still fucks with my mind
12.
Yo, what are you up to on Saturday night? You could download some music, or go watch it live 'Cause after we die the songs will survive, and define our entire lives The bar might be shit, and the booze will be steep And it's questionable company you'll no doubt keep But the music will blare; we'll lose our cares; for a night we'll be more than our sum There's no Kingdom to come We're already the lucky ones x2 All the boys will be broke but they'll still be charming Don't need a fat wad of cash if your brain is disarming And the girls will feel beautiful in their own skin 'Cause make-up don't make up a person It's passion for music and love for your friends It's knowing where you come from, and change from within It's not accepting that we're stuck in this fucked up system Where hate is revered more than heart There's no Kingdom to come. We're already the lucky ones x2 There's no kingdom here on earth, and there will be none when we pass So I'm just glad to be alive right here tonight If you're ever fearful or fretting, please know our time won't last We won't be anything but smudges of memory There's no Kingdom to come. We're already the lucky ones x6

about

25% Craig Marriner, 25% Chris Hannah, 25% Hone Tuwhare, 25% Freddy Fudd Pucker. 0% Alan Duff.

The Prophet Motive is back, with the release of their second full-length album, ‘Atlas Shrugged’.

After the successful reception of their first album, 2014’s ‘Manifest Density’, and the addition of Matt Billington (Myth of Democracy, Future Theft, 5th Threat, Cheap For A Reason) to the band, Mitch Cookson has relocated Rotorua’s 4th best Political Folk-Punk Duo deep into the ragged heart of the housing bubble in Auckland, paying exorbitant rent and dealing with the harsh realities of life in the precariat/working classes after 9 long years of National-led Governments.

With another Douche Vs. Turd Election upon us, The Prophet Motive release 12 tracks which cast a spotlight on the ramifications of neo-liberal economic orthodoxy on the people and the planet, from the perspectives of two working-class New Zealand men – one Maori, one Pakeha – both of whom are coming to grips with the failures of Western Democratic Institutions and the two impending worldwide disasters created by human beings – Climate Change and Right Wing Nationalism. Atlas Shrugged is a continuation of The Prophet Motive’s fight for progressive, socialist change for all nations and peoples on earth.

credits

released August 15, 2017

All songs written by Mitch Cookson except Tracks 2 and 8, written by Matt Billington/Mitch Cookson.

All lyrics by Mitch Cookson except Tracks 2 and 8, written by Matt Billington/Mitch Cookson.

Dave Hine - Piano on Tacks 4 and 12, Backing Vox on Tracks 2 and 12.

Recorded, Produced, Mixed and Mastered by Dave Hine at Puppy Killer 2.0, Waitakere Auckland

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The Prophet Motive Auckland, New Zealand

The Prophet Motive - Mitch Cookson (Vocals, Guitar) and Matt Billington (Guitar, Vocals) are Rotorua's fourth best Political Folk-Punk duo. Now based in Auckland, they have just released their second album, 'Atlas Shrugged'.

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