I Hate Alternative Rock - Bob Mould

Tired epileptic charade

Get on the plane and fly away

I knew you when

I knew you when

You had something to say

The Twentieth Century

Has not been particularly kind to me

So when asked to define

You feign the benign

And decline to answer properly

You feel threatened now

There’s other icons flying higher now

As you grab for the past

You know it won’t last

There’s no need to describe it

I hope someone else is driving you

I hope someone else intelligent

Is driving you

Now the myth disintegrates

Nothing else is permanent