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stop whispering


and the wise men say, "i don’t want to hear your voice."
and the thin men say, "i don’t want to hear your voice."
and they’re cursing me, and they won’t let me be.
and there’s nothing to say, and there’s nothing to do.
stop whispering; start shouting.
stop whispering; start shouting.

and my mother said, "we spit on you, son, some more."
and the buildings said, "we spit on your face some more."
and the feeling is that there’s nothing wrong, ’cause i can’t find the
words, and i can’t find the songs.
stop whispering; start shouting.
stop whispering; start shouting.

dear sir: i have a complaint.
dear sir: i have a complaint.
can’t remember what it is . . .
doesn’t matter, anyway

doesn’t matter anyway

stop whispering
stop whispering
stop whispering
stop whispering

start shouting

cynical without being indifferent, jaded with a motive force.
judging from their music, they’re not a blithely miserable group, blind to
their privilege, and taken in by the shining lights of their own
rock star status. rather, they use their music to empower and articulate
the existence of hypocrisy and ignorance.
people might think they’re whiny and miserable, but they’re too adept and
beautiful for self-pity. self-criticism and
evaluation is more like it. they don’t hole up in their rock star world,
content with promotionals, fans, and award-acceptance speeches.
instead, they’ve incensed a small population of young hearts to the world
outside the earphones.


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