Testo Happiness Doesn't Sell

Materialize! The mass production of art. We're going nowhere, but getting there fast! Oblivious! We're begging for bargains! Oblivion! Discounting our dreams. Oblivious! We're trying to make sense, but we don't want the change, we don't want the change. Take what you want, leave the rest for the vultures to scavenge amongst the filth. We laid off everyone at the lighthouses, and now our shores are lined with shipwrecks. We've lost everything, and everyone, and now we're on our own. What good is this heart if it doesn't have a home? If music is the food of love, then we've heard every song. And we're starving and thirsting for more, but we got all the words wrong. We are gathered here today for the eulogy of a fallen friend. I can't scream these words any clearer, and I'm sick of trying to pretend. This is the death of music. We are the death of music. But if you ask me, it died long ago.