Propagandhi
Something Needs To Die But Maybe It’s Not You

Staring
At the
Ceiling
In the darkness
Your mind is racing
Repeating

Life is but a manic series of
Deflating failures when compared to the
The images that flash across the screen
What's the point of all this?
What does any of it mean?
Good question

I'd like the answer
Myself
But there's one thing
That I know
About you, for sure

You were sent here with a gift
But the realm in which we exist
Seeks to dazzle, to confuse
With every chеap, tawdry ruse
'Til we forget what it is
Thе gift is not glory
The gift is not heroics or recognition
It's not the hatred
Our demonic leaders keep demanding

It's something so impossibly mundane
Cannot be measured, it cannot be named
It's something so crucial to how things turn out
You were sent here with it to conquer chaos and doubt

But that great deceiver in your ear
Laughing it all off with a sneer, ha!
With a derisive, discordant blast
Terrified that one day you'll grasp
Creation don't make no trash

You may feel ill-equipped
And aimlessly adrift
But you were sent here with a gift
What will you do with it?