Move in. Incursions into the wilderness of poverty. Pave the way. Disregard how your actions affect the natives. All attention on yourself. Pave the way, you've paved the way. Short-sighted enablers, you've cleared the way. The evictions are in the mail. The bulldozers are on the way.
You're the right arm of oppression. You're the iron fist of gentrification. You've stolen our homes. You've leveled our homes. You've stolen our homes. You've taken our lives. Developer! Land baron! Across this beautiful city, you've spread the flakes of your extrement. Now harvest monoculture.
Yearly mass migration. Ritual exploration. You've been everywhere, but you don't remember anything. Lifestyle decadence. Shadow of the elite. You take, take, take. You give nothing back. Afraid of being controlled, so you submit to control. You'll repeat your mistakes. You'll repeat their mistakes. You're the refuse caught in the whirlpool, circling the drain. As monotonous as a career.
Track Name: Supervisor
Look down on me. Talk down to me. From your position of power, your throne on high. Just keep my mouth shut. Just bite my tongue. No use complaining when no one ever cares. Am I too weak? Am I too scared? Will nothing ever change? Unfulfillment ad nauseum. Lay every failure at my feet. Push me right out the door and clean out make desk to make way for the next chump.
Track Name: Sellouts
You won't go out quietly. You'll go kicking and screaming, tearing down everyone and everything you once worked so hard to build. I can feel your whine. I can hear your moan. "Things just aren't what they used to be." I truly hope you can find fulfillment in your new life of drudgery. You're not opting out. You're buying in. "When are you going to grow up? When will you settle down?" You won't go out quietly. You'll go kicking and screaming, tearing down everything and everyone you once held so dear. I can feel your whine. I can hear your moan. "People just don't care as much anymore."
Track Name: The Scene
Shovel another pile of shit on our plates and watch us eat our fill. The unwashed massed laugh and cheer and dance. Put on the costume. Learn your lines. Join your hands. Act in tandem. Put on the costume. Learn your lines. Nothing new. Unchanging. Uniform. Endless repetition. So mindless. So boring. So colorless. So pedestrian. It would be unfair, it just wouldn't be true, to call you another cog in some machine--because then you have some use. And you're worthless.