Ladies Nite In Loserville - Propagandhi

Propagandhi - Potemkin City Limits

Human(e) Meat (The Flensing Of Sandor Katz) - Propagandhi

You speak of Rastafari, but how can you justify belief
In a god that’s left you behind?
You’ve simply filled the gap between the upper and lower class
And your faith merely keeps you in line.
An amalgamation of jewish scripture and christian thought.
What will that get you? Not a fuck of a lot.
Take a look at your promised land.
Your deed is that gun in your hand.
Mt. Zion’s a minefield. The West Bank. The Gaza Strip.
Soon to be parking lots for American tourists and fascist cops.
Fuck zionism. Fuck militarism. Fuck americanism.
Fuck nationalism. Fuck religion.

“Live like an angel, die like a devil.” Don’t let it worry you, we’re down here together. We’re all here: heathens, heretics, kids with blue socks. I asked some questions and wasn’t satisfied with the answers. It seems that’s the biggest crime since not fitting in. But we’re all here: King Diamond, todd’s mom, fallen angels, the decimated cultures, the kid in the corner in sweat pants. We’ll find our own way.

The day The Equinox arrived our pilgrimage began:
1200 miles, a cruise missile to our unholy land.
We were fucking stoked unlike we’d been since we were pimpled,
pubeless teens. From every corner of the world
our fellow maniacs arrived to prove the meaning of the tunes
had not been lost through time’s antiquity,
but had survived to leave this monumental sign.
They say you can’t relive the past,
but as the lights went down it all came rushing back:
half a life away, the night,
for the first time in a lonely life,
a young soul took flight.
They stormed the stage a thrashing rage,
we all screamed, “Terminate!!!”
A half-head in a whale shirt went and breathed it in face.
I didn’t care. It could not impair this rhapsodic, transcendental state.
When the music died, two ends of time had been neatly tied.
Descending lights had scorched the plains.
Returning kings back to reclaim lost disciples
that remained to tend the flames.
We stormed into streets a pack of raging troglodytes!
We waited for our bus then rode it hard into the night!
Far beneath the cold, robotic sweep of the radar operator’s pale green glow.
20,000 leagues below.
To the place where all the best bands go.