Where are you now my problematic fave?

Oozing or just snoozing, snoozing in your grave

In the age of information you escaped the great palaver

Another gargoyle strangled by your slave

Oozing and a-snoozing in your grave

So great to hear that you became world famous in the end

No-one got the memo though, my bulbous-headed friend

Intuitively late for your blind date with Madame Fortune

These orchestras are dead

That rush for inequality, how was it ever clean?

The bowing and the scraping was so monstrously obscene

The lurch-creep of the puritan, the stink of burning bras

These orchestras are dead, these orchestras are dead

But long live the unborn! The baby yet-to-come!

Long live the pinky paupers and the awful gits of dawn

Delightful gifts are coming that we've yet to understand

These orchestras are dead, these orchestras are dead

A world-defeating dildo to the end

Just in time for such a fine catastrophe my friend

Seething with frustration at your third inoculation

And a green electric scooter's all they send

A green electric scooter's all they send

And no-one ever pesters you for interviews today

No muscle-bulging knuckleheads to hold the crowds at bay

Just autistic incel bedroom boys who clutch their heads and say:

"These fingered air apostrophes mean everything today"

Each courting his catastrophe in his AirBnb

But the rush for inequality was never ever clean

The bowing and the scraping that left us sick and green

The creep of the obsequiots, the stink of burning bras

This orchestra is dead, this orchestra is dead

But long live the unborn! Long live the yet-to-come!

Long live the pinky paupers and the awful gits of dawn

Delightful things come raining down we've yet to understand

Now the awful star is dead and we are free to be the fans

Of every fucking nothing thing at all

These orchestras are dead