Punk’s not dead It just deserves to die When it becomes another stale cartoon A close-minded, self-centered social club Ideas don’t matter, it’s who you know If the music’s gotten boring It’s because of the people Who want everyone to sound the same Who drive bright people out Of our so-called scene
Ascribing to a movement, seeing yourself as liberal and/or progressive, etc., does not mean everything you enjoy must further your politics, should further your politics, or that nothing you enjoy can ever be opposed to your politics in some manner. Shit’s complicated and…
“I see the European headsman;
He stands mask’d, clothed in red, with huge legs, and strong naked arms,
And leans on a ponderous axe.
(Whom have you slaughter’d lately, European headsman?
Whose is that blood upon you, so wet and sticky?)
I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs;
I see from the scaffolds the descending ghosts,
Ghosts of dead lords, uncrown’d ladies, impeach’d ministers, rejected kings,
Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains, and the rest.
I see those who in any land have died for the good cause;
The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never run out;
(Mind you, O foreign kings, O priests, the crop shall never run out.)
I see the blood wash’d entirely away from the axe;
Both blade and helve are clean;
They spirt no more the blood of European nobles—they clasp no more the necks of queens.
I see the headsman withdraw and become useless;
I see the scaffold untrodden and mouldy—I see no longer any axe upon it;
I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my own race—the newest, largest race.”—Walt Whitman, Song of the Broad-Axe, 8.