1. |
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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
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2. |
Being Pākehā
02:59
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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
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3. |
God's Saucepan
02:45
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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
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4. |
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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
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5. |
Dear Minister
01:30
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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
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6. |
Keep Digging
03:33
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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
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7. |
ZM Cross-Over Hit
01:40
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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
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8. |
Bury The 'I'
03:53
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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
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9. |
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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.
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10. |
Turkey Pardon
02:57
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...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.
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11. |
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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
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12. |
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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
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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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