Declaration of The Hill Dwellers

You dare look me in the eye & say
the aged intensity of punk rock doesn’t smolder in my soul
That I don’t carry the torch of my fallen punk ancestors
Laid to rest by the 9 to 5
Spikes combed forward, ‘hawks brushed to the far left
lookin’ no good, no bueño
flown off to nowhere special.
Memories fade. Scribblings remain.

How Dare
You spit in my eye
as I walk down the aisle to claim the prize
The most damned prize so rightfully mine
of everlasting life & peace of mind
No price is right when the price hanging over my head, es
no good no bueño
Measured in wealth with no real value,
Chop it up thrice & serve it chilled sided with grilled
chopped heads of men & mice

How Dare
You poke me in the eye with sharp edges
from a bill you figured your generation would
have paid in full by now
Shoot daggers in my back, my shoulders buckle
under the weight of the price on my head
But behold this truth!
That the price is not mine! The price is not right!
It’s No Good, No Bueño!

That’s why I
Dare to fly northward &
onward & on & on
Gone that way, pulling the reverse switch
past 1992, past time
past the time of the No Good
Of whatever remains past the No Bueño
past the punk
rocking out with no one special

Memories fade. Scribblings remain.

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