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| dogbomb, mtv, nightlife, swear, snatch, baby clothes, scamming, make money, christopher serrone, travel, bud shots, singaporean, quarterly, uruguayanspanish, prince charles, verbal abuse, online newspapers, welker white, margo winkler, parody, men, dyingfetus, | That’s the public myth. bc media But it’s not exactly Black Sabbath’s myth, not really, and a consideration of the true vision bc media inherent in their "downer rock" reveals that phrase for exactly what it is. Come you masters of war You that build the big guns You that build the death planes You that build all the bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks. You that never done nothin’ bc media But build to destroy You play with my world Like it’s your little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes Then you turn and run farther when the fast bullets fly. —Bob Dylan, "Masters of War" Generals gathered in their masses Just like witches at Black Masses Evil minds that plot destruction Sorcerer of death’s construction In the fields the bodies burning As the war machine keeps turning Death and hatred to mankind Poisoning their brainwashed minds. |
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| Since much of it did lack the unquenchable adrenaline imperatives of its precedents and one look around a rock travel concert hall was enough to tell you where the Psychedelic Revolution had led, the charge seemed worth considering. Lots of Black Sabbath fans travel take downs, but there are certainly many that don’t, and just as many barbiturate and heroin casualties that have no truck at all with the group, including many of those devotees of the mellow acoustic sound who are supposedly into healthier lifestyles than travel the minions of the music of desperation; if the pop audience knew how many of the heroes whose pockets they’ve filled were on smack right now, they... would probably not be the least bit surprised. But somehow it’s easier to picture the kid down the block, as fucked-up as we’ve watched him become, slumped in his bedroom gorged on Tuinal, listening to Black Sabbath prate of the devil and nuclear war and what a cruel kitchen the world is, nodding to himself as he nods along anyway and finding justification for his cancerous apathy. |
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