[Intro: Sparse, distorted acoustic strum, organ drone like wind, tape hiss]
[Verse 1]
Remember the tracklist scrawl on a warped C-90,
Arcade light bleeding into denim and coffee cups, (10–12 syllables approx)
Latchkey jingles, keys like dog tags round our throats,
We learned to count the minutes like a cheap horoscope.
Boombox sermons on cracked stoops at midnight, spit and spark,
We worshipped thrift-store gods beneath neon and park bark.
Nights of Taco Bell hush, cigarette-lighters like stars—
They told us to burn the rules, we sharpened them to scars.
[Pre-Chorus]
(Soft, sneering) They boxed our noise in branded coats—
A velvet rope, a thrift-store god that floats.
(Quiet chant) We swore we’d never trade the pain... but we did.
[Chorus — Hook: strong, singable]
Nostalgia claws with rusted teeth, (call) it drags us to our knees,
We’re relic kings beneath cheap wreaths, (response) laughing through the grease.
Once we spat at their parade, now we’re merch in yesterday—
This poisoned well, this thrift-store god, sells our ghosts his way.
(Chant under) Rusted teeth — cheap wreaths — yesterday.
[Verse 2]
MTV prophets with lipstick and static in their breath,
Grunge gods sold on late-night ads, their halos pawned for meth.
Track-skip romance, Polaroid prayers in attic light,
A dog-eared mixtape folded like a promise we’d fight.
Quarter-fed pinball, the highscore written in our names,
We bowled for chaos, not the cause, and worshipped neon flames.
Now feeds drip dopamine like fluorescent laundry soap,
We trade our scars for currency and scapegoat every hope.
[Pre-Chorus]
(Sarcastic aside) Remember when we believed the noise?
Now the noise is just product, dressed in old boys’ toys.
(Quiet chant) They laugh and pin a price tag on our sins...
[Chorus]
Nostalgia claws with rusted teeth, it drags us to our knees,
We’re relic kings beneath cheap wreaths, laughing through the grease.
Once we spat at their parade, now we’re merch in yesterday—
This poisoned well, this thrift-store god, sells our ghosts his way.
(Chant) Rusted teeth — cheap wreaths — yesterday.
[Punk Breakdown: Electric feedback, fiddle screeches, stomping boots, clanging chain loop]
(Snarl) Scream it out—fuck the rewind!
Memories mockin', leaving us blind!
We built the chaos, now they bottle and stream, (yell)
Our riots turned into a curated dream!
[Fiddle/Mandolin Duel — instrumental: screeching violin, frantic mandolin picking] (20–30 bars)
(Instrumental builds, then quiets to a single mandolin line)
[Verse 3 — personal memory, humanizing]
Tuesday at Luna’s Diner, you slid me that mixtape slow,
Side A scratched, your handwriting promising we’d go—
You laughed when the chorus clipped, we swore the world would bend,
You left at dawn for some factory dream that never mend.
Polaroids yellow with your cigarette-smear grin,
Friends scattered like receipts, swallowed by the wind.
I flip a coin for memory, heads is bitter, tails is ash,
We were kings of nothing, now we’re clerks of a past.
[Chorus — Variat
