Orchestras

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 and a-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 scraping 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
Delightful gifts are coming that we've yet to understand
These orchestras are dead, these orchestras are dead

A world-defeating dildo 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
A 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 scraping that left us sick and green
The creep of the obsequiots, 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 pinky 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
Of every fucking nothing thing at all
These orchestras are dead