The Call of the Epigon

The impulse is to simplify

Make it overtly clear that you need something off your chest

Find your favorite chord

Then make a T on the fretboard, doesn't matter if you get bored

No one's listening. Why try anymore?

Safety brings complacency, nihilism, and apathy

Talent gives to tragedy

When you cut the technicalities

Week after week, we practice 3 chord songs

Simple chants for sing-alongs

For 7 friends who don't keep track

And old barflies who'd rather see a funky jazz band

From Queens to Hermosa Beach

We write the same songs on repeat

And underscore the notion of being free

While waxing nostalgic in major key

But that New Noise, it never came

Supplanted by a conquest for fortune and fame

And all that strange to tame

"Hope, perseverence, a vision (Some doubt)

Green ink, a 26 oz., a bad case of big mouth

A sum of our parts, and I've never laughed harder"

Drown out what you've heard before

Displace your heroes, and ask for more

Drown out what you've heard before

The point is lost and the fans are bored