There was a song we used to sing
That we'll never sing again,
Old tired bones depend
On their easy answers
And the tired trends,
Cheers to you my dead air friend.

The frequencies are bleeding it.
The frequencies are feeding it.
The frequencies are breeding it.
She's a tired lover;
He's a dead air friend,
Turn the dial or pull the pen.

This is not a test, (This is not a test.)
No, this is not a test.
This is not a test, (This is not a test.)
It's an S.O.S.

It's an S.O.S.O.S.O.S.O.S.

The sound waves have been equalized,
Neatly compressed, soothing for all.
Counter culture commodified,
It's bottom lines, nickels and dimes.
Come on out and join the sing-a-long,
The audio shopping mall.

Prize-sterilized-monotone.


Lyrics submitted by skacore_dude

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