Rhyming here with fear makes Robert Smith cry

The other night I was privy to a dream which included a hyper violent rendition of pokemon gang warfare. I can't remember too many details of the event, but I do recall a finale which included squirtles holding their guns sideways. I've been having some very strange dreams of late.

Lyricism has got to be the touchiest subject amidst a veritable touchy ocean of touchy things in the wild canon of music. Discerning the merits of one bit of poetry against another is either, depending on your viewpoint, damn near impossible or the kind of thing English-majors do in impolite grasps at relevance. I certainly fancy that one can prove with mathematical accuracy just how much more sophisticated and creative any Explosions In The Sky record has over, say, that one song Nickelback keep releasing over and over again; but if a lyricist's words resonate with someone, what is there to say? I can recall with nigh-on-creepy detail the pop girls of my high school heyday absolutely overwhelmed with human feeling in the midst of a dance because goddamnit they played that vaguely-countryish ballad Three Doors Down wrote that one time. Good for them, right?

All the same, I violated my self-anointed crusade against ever listening to the radio again just long enough to find out that Linkin Park wrote another goddamn song. I don't care who you are or where your tastes lie, this crap is finely processed drivel which has actually cost me the use of my right arm (not a complete lie):

What you thought of me
Well I cleaned this slate
With the hands
Of uncertainty
So let mercy come
And wash away
What I’ve done

I have actually heard more potent verse from an eight year old - neat story, ask me some time - and know full well that this disingenuous garbage is being sopped out by a thirty-one year old millionaire. I'm going to skip right over asking for the emos to give us a collective break and request of them a forthright and self-inflicted right hook to their own crotches for this. Even those gratuitous lawling popophiles who are sure kids like myself only ever like anything for its kitsch value can't possibly call lyrical turdwork like this anything but lazy, cliché, and dishonest.

I try not to be that indie guy, spouting the virtues of esoteric music, but goddamnit people at least the indie scene gives its listeners some credit!

Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure those girls are still giving emotive performances over to whatever ballad is popular nowadays. Credit might not in fact be due to all cases. Intellectual hookers.

Also, stop bigotted indie-hating now before it gets out of control:

Josh
*sends Dan a song*
Dan
let me guess, you love them now, but once they have a modicum of success, you'll hate them
Dan
unless you continue to lke them, but only ironically
Josh
gorillaz? they're a platinum selling band you dick and they have been for years
Dan
it was the Gorillaz?