The Shape Of Nothing To Come

No class, no meaning, no doubts
No questions and no coming-outs
No reasons but still on the prowl
No glory but rulling the crowds
Nothing to say
But you’re still proud
With entertainment in mind and dressed in clouds
Nothing to give that I need to get
Nothing to sell
Nothing to sell that I never had
This is mass media and you don’t stick out
The more things change, the more things strange
Our community decays
The more things change, the more things strange
Are we damned to fail?
The more things change, the more things strange
Nothing to give that I need to get
Nothing to sell that I never had
How can I question art?
How couldn’t?
How couldn’t I question art?