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letra de orchestras - momus

where are you now, my problematic fave?
oozing or just snoozing, snoozing in your grave
in the age of information you escaped the great palaver
another gargoyle strangled by your slave
oozing then snoozing in your grave

so great to hear that you became world famous in the end
no one got the memo, though, my bulbous-headed friend
intuitively late for your blind date with madame fortune
these orchestras are dead

that rush for inequality, how was it ever clean?
the bowing and the scr-ping was so monstrously obscene
the lurch-creep of the puritan, the stink of burning bras
these orchestras are dead
these orchestras are dead

but long live the unborn! the baby yet to come
long live the pinky paupers and the awful gits of dawn
to life all gifts are coming that we’ve yet to understand
these orchestras are dead
these orchestras are dead

a woe-defeating d-ld- to the end
just in time for such a fine catastrophe, my friend
seething with frustration at your third inoculation
and a green electric scooter’s all they send
the green electric scooter’s all they send
and no one ever pesters you for interviews today
no muscle-bulging knuckleheads to hold the crowds at bay
just autistic incel bedroom boys who clutch their heads and say
these fingered air apostrophes mean everything today
each courting his catastrophe in his airbnb

but the rush for inequality was never ever clean
the bowing and the scr-ping that left us sick and green
the creep of the obsequious, the stink of burning bras
this orchestra is dead
this orchestra is dead

but long live the unborn! long live the yet to come
long live the kooky paupers and the awful gits of dawn
delightful things come raining down, we’ve yet to understand
now the awful star is dead and we are free to be the fans
–
these orchestras are dead

- momus

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