The Ecstasy of Nihilism in a Strip Mall Parking Lot

(Verse 1) The vape smoke smells like cotton candy and impending collapse. You're doing cartwheels on the yellow lines,a unicycle of pure intent. Found a meth-head prophet behind the Arby's,preaching to the dumpster. He sold me a vision of the end times for two dollars and a compliment. My jaw's wired shut with too much talking,my pupils are dinner plates. You're licking the salt from a tequila worm like it's the last sacrament on earth. The security cameras are blinking like disapproving gods. We're giving them a show they can't monetize. (Pre-Chorus) They built this purgatory with fluorescent lights and acoustic tile! So we're redecorating with spray paint and bad decisions! Our credit's fucked but our eyeliner is impeccable! (Chorus) SO TURN THE BASS UP'TIL THE CONCRETE CRACKS! We're dancing on the graves of our potential! Give me friction burns from sliding into home plate after curfew! This isn't rebellion,it's a seizure set to music! WE ARE THE GARBAGE-FIRE SAINTS OF NOWHERE,USA! And the flames look prettier when you're the one who lit the match! (Verse 2) Stole a shopping cart and raced it down the handicapped ramp. You screamed like it was a rollercoaster diving into the mouth of God. A cop car idles by,a shark in a sea of asphalt. We wave with middle fingers hidden in our pockets,all sweet poison and fake smiles. You're trying to French kiss a streetlight for the Instagram story. I'm trying to remember if I took my meds or just someone else's. The only thing holy in this zip code is the buzz in our teeth. The only scripture we follow is the one written in Sharpie on the bathroom stall. (Pre-Chorus) Our résumés are written in glitter glue and misdemeanors! Our futures are a black hole wearing a party hat! And we're RSVP'ing"FUCK YES" to the event horizon! (Chorus) SO TURN THE BASS UP'TIL THE CONCRETE CRACKS! We're dancing on the graves of our potential! Give me friction burns from sliding into home plate after curfew! This isn't rebellion,it's a seizure set to music! WE ARE THE GARBAGE-FIRE SAINTS OF NOWHERE,USA! And the flames look prettier when you're the one who lit the match! (Bridge) This isn't a cry for help—it's a laugh track over the suicide note! A standing ovation for the collapse! We are the children of Ritalin and rust belts! Our love language is holding your hair back while you puke up ambition! We've seen the bottom,and it's padded with expired coupons and empty promises! SO LET'S BOUNCE! (Interlude: Musical Spazz-Out) [Music becomes hyper-staccato, synth-punk chaos. Vocals are a distorted, sped-up yelp.] "Systems failing!Aesthetic win! Check my vital signs—apparanly they're doing the worm, yes, again! This isn't a phase, it's a full-color neurological event! My serotonin is a pinball machine set to TILT!— WOOOO! I traded my soul for a limited-edition vinyl and hope for a goddamn good *fucking!* binged three minutes of pure, uncut NOW!" (Spoken Word:) ....Just-Shut-The-Fuck–*"UP!"* ...Oooh, —Yeah... And, ("You may now lick the bag!") (Guitar Solo / Theatrical Breakdown) [The Purest Spazz. Starts with a huge, emotive, singable melody line, then immediately collapses into atonal video gamer glitches, synth farts, and a single guitar string being detuned mid-squeal. It's beautiful and then intentionally stupid.] (Outro) The sun's coming up like a bad hangover. We're covered in glitter and the shame won't stick. You pass out in the stolen shopping cart,a postmodern princess. I watch the sanitation trucks arrive to clean up our masterpiece. Another beautiful,meaningless night filed under "E for Evidence." We didn't change the world. But for a few hours,we made it uglier in exactly our shade of beautiful. [Final sound: A single, sustained, distorted synth note that abruptly cuts to the "beep-beep-beep" of a backing-up garbage truck.]