Pierre Brassau

If a sureness carries with it a plague
And it’s urbane in it’s blandness
It leaves nothing unscathed
Zombie at the ticker tape fete
Harmless and monochromatic
Under a fading sun
Another failing engine with an end in sight
Under a fading sun
Another failing engine
When they closed in
When the massacre came
They were boring
They were bullshit
Will they paint the town grey?
Probably
Dig a pitiful grave
You’re too late
Too late
Scammed
While the critical say ‘you're the last of a dying breed'
The river makes way for the next of a breeding death
O' the critical say ‘you're the last of a dying breed'
The river gives way
Quick, the bastards are coming
Mountebanks and harlequins
A gift horse with a toothless grin
Under a fading sun
Another failing engine with an end in sight
Under a fading sun
Another failing engine
Roll over Beethoven for average perfection