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Timothy Cameron: .​.​.​every cloud has a sulphur lining​.​.​.

by T.C. Folkpunk

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1.
Now that the world is run by fossil fools, And corporations run the public schools, Our infotainment puts it all in place, And tells us how to fill up empty space, It's bread & circuses, it's front page news, It's bread & circuses, they gotta keep us amused, These days the medium is the massage, They're busy bowing to their own applause, No need to question their integrity, All the important stuff is on page three, It's bread & circuses, it's front page news, It's bread & circuses, they gotta keep us confused, Now every cloud has a sulphur lining, still the sun is shining Its dazzling rays, Face the corner in your dunce hat, they'll only tell you once that This is the way, it's gonna stay, and you'll obey, all that they say. Now Gretzky's bigger than Jesus Christ, In our complacent little paradise, And all the voices that we trust the most, Just want to keep the advertisers close. It's bread & circuses, it's front page news, It's bread & circuses, they gotta keep up the ruse.
2.
The rule of popularity is this: A contract sealed ain't sealed with with just a kiss, And if you think it's a disgrace, They're lining up to take your place, Careers can be sunk with no trace, So make yourself comfy on, his comfy casting couch, Now you've done the dirty for your break, Attraction not the only thing you fake, Well welcome to glamourous life, And don't breathe a word to his wife, He's had enough marital strife, So make yourself comfy on, his comfy casting couch, He makes a killing the way he makes a living, You never knew this business was so giving, Bite your tongue and bite the bullet too, Cushioning the blow would spoil the view, A lazy boy becomes a man, Your future is held in your hands, The finger of fate makes demands, So make yourself comfy on, his comfy casting couch.
3.
Way of life wrapped in vapidity, Pulls you in with such rapidity, The whip cracks and you're tossed into the fray, You're half asleep in your flannel world of grey, In the land of lukewarm, well what did you expect? Polite and quite humourless, now you're a nervous wreck, In this overpopulation boom, Now you race the rats around the room, The empty stare you focus on a screen, Says a lot about your urban dreams, In the land of lukewarm, well what did you expect? Polite and quite humourless, now you're a nervous wreck, So you give the stressed years of your life, Now your soul's been amputated, and you're the one with the knife, Now you're smug and uptight like the rest, Everything you are has been repressed, Now you face your fashionable fate, You've become the thing you used to hate, In the land of lukewarm, what did you expect, Polite and quite humourless, now you're a nervous wreck.
4.
The place I leave behind, in the dust, Some day I'll reminisce, if I must, And call up from the past, all I'm hoping to forget, The threat of old regrets, The place I leave behind takes your voice, Conformity a rule, not a choice, A peg to fit a hole, shaped to someone else's needs, Indeed, but now I'm freed, Run, never look back, grinning as I pack, Things that may remind, me of the tedious grind: The place I leave behind, The place I leave behind, with its ghosts, I learned from them that first and foremost, That staying put would mean, losing part of what was me, Ennui a certainty, Run never look back, grinning as I pack, Things that may remind, me of that tedious grind: The place I leave behind, The place I leave behind, finally, Is relegated to history, I've burned a final bridge, linking me to yesterday, Okay I'm on my way, Nothing left to make me stay, I'll take a pass, now it's passe...
5.
Video Video 02:39
Video, video, and its alluring haunted glow, I'd like to outgrow video, They'll be right back, don't touch that dial, Too much is riding on their, too perfect hair and smiles, Big stakes in this medium, That's far from rare but never well done, As content loses out to style, Video video and its alluring haunted glow, I'd like to outgrow video, Couch voyeurism only leads, To useless ad campaigns for some crap that no one needs, A talking head without a flaw and, The weather girl's a barbie doll and, The guy on sports is high on speed, Video video and its alluring haunted glow, I'd like to outgrow video, There in the corner blinks the drug, The fix is never ending, and no one pulls the plug, Nothing much on any station, It's all been done in syndication, I'd rather sit and watch the rug, Video video and its alluring haunted glow, Like a plug in gigolo selling status quo, I'd like to outgrow video, Video...video...video...
6.
Looks like there's an industry that takes you to your final breath, Still they're pleading innocent while causing menthol-flavoured death, You're the butt of their joke, keep laughing till you choke, They filter the truth, resorting to such, Ruthless measures as peer pressure, Looks like there's an industry whose king size lobby cracks the whip, Pushers, whose junkies all insist they'd rather fight than switch, The money you've burned, on the ashes that you've earned/urned, Proves you'll never quit, so get a lung little stogie, It's in vogue, "We see nothing wrong as long as the cash is flowing, Our future's bright from all of the gaspers glowing, Facts disappear, second hand smoke and mirrors has been Our stock in trade for years..." Well it looks like there's an industry concealing craven cowardice, How did Walter Raleigh ever talk us into all of this? You cancertainly stop temporarily, But still you'll return to the comfort of the, Burning embers, you remember.
7.
Whatever 02:49
Whatever, yeah yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah yeah yeah, Whatever, there's bullshit everywhere, and I'm supposed to care, Remember, the latest fads and trends, don't matter in the end, The information age is wasting my time, You want the fifteen minutes that Warhol promised? Well get in line! Whatever, yeah yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah yeah yeah, Whatever, it seems that by and large, the inmates are in charge, Asylum, is all that I request from this modern mess, You surf the interglut, it's more of the same, A two dimensional world on a wired window pane, Whatever, yeah yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah yeah yeah, Whatever, there are in point of fact some infomaniacs, They're hungry, for scraps of useless news, keeping them confused, Well I've seen grown men running amok, In the name of a team of millionaires chasing a puck, Whatever, yeah yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah, Whatever, yeah yeah yeah yeah,

about

Recorded live off the floor at Invisible Sound, Toronto.
T.C. Folkpunk was still going by his given name...

credits

released September 16, 2004

Timothy Cameron (T.C.): vocals, electric guitar, harmonica.
Mits Macrone: acoustic guitar
Gump D. Walrus: tambourine
Baron Von Rickenbacker: electric 12-string
and the Faux Pas Folk Punk Chorus: Duncan McBain, Vaughn Passmore and some of the above.

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T.C. Folkpunk Toronto, Ontario

One guy with a guitar and a notebook full of lyrics.

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