|
canadian journalism, goldie lookin chain your mother's got a penis song lyrics, the tyee, flicks, stills, alternative, web publishing tool, crime, 'literary journal', helping, kinky, live, cinema, quarterly, barbs, publication, marthawainwright, gift set, growing cannabis, adult, media watch,
|
would probably not be the least bit surprised. But somehow associate it’s easier to picture the kid down the block, as fucked-up as we’ve watched him become, slumped in his bedroom gorged associate 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. That’s the public myth. But it’s not exactly Black Sabbath’s myth, not associate really, and a consideration of the true vision 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’ 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.
|
