Bad Religion

“Pity the Dead” by Bad Religion.

Words and music by Bad Religion. © 1996 Epitaph Records.

there’s a boy in crimson rags with a grimace and a spoon, and a little sullen
girl face-up staring at the moon
and there’s no one around to hear their lonesome cries
then they pass away alone into the night

why do we pity the dead?
are you churned by emotion from voices in your head?
(are you scared of the logic that swirls within your head)
look at all the living and you’ll ask yourself why
oh why do we
pity the dead?
pity the dead!

well, you’ve seen the disease, suffering and decay,
and you whisper to yourself blissfully “it’s okay”
and you still refuse the possibility
that the dead are better off than we

tell me what you see, tell me what you know
is there anyone who lives a painless life?
if there is show me so
the destitute and famished, demonic and the
banished, dejected and the ostracized, the
brainwashed and the paralyzed, the conquered
and objectified, the few who see the other side
tell me what you see! It’s a mortal wretched cacophony

in the end you may find there’s no guiding subtle light,
no ancestors or friends, no judge of wrong or right
just eternal silence and dormancy
and a final everlasting peace

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“The Answer” by Bad Religion.

Words and music by Bad Religion. © 1992 Epitaph Records.

Long ago in a dusty village,
Full of hunger, pain and strife,
A man came forth with a vision of truth,
And the way to a better life,
He was convinced he had the answer,
And he compelled people to follow along,
But the hunger never vanished,
And the man was banished,
And the village dried up and died,

At a time when wise men peered,
Through brass tubes toward the sky,
The heavens changed in predictable ways,
And one man was able to find,
That he had thought he found the answer,
And he was quick to write his revelation,
But as they were scrutinized
In his colleagues eyes,
He soon became a mockery,

Don’t tell me about the answer,
’cause then another one will come along soon,
I don’t believe you have the answer,
I’ve got ideas too,
But if you’ve got enough naivite,
And you’ve got conviction,
Then the answer is perfect for you

An urban sprawl sits choking on it’s discharge,
Overwhelmed by industry,
Inclined toward charity,
Everyone’s begging for an answer,
Without regard to validity,
The searching never ends,
It goes on and on and on for eternity

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Fuck Armageddon…This is Hell” by Bad Religion.

Words and music by Greg Graffin. © 1982 Epitaph Records.
Thanks to B. Johnson for the song suggestion.

there’s people out there that say I’m no good,
’cause I don’t believe the things that I should,
and when the final conflict comes, I’ll be so sorry I did wrong,
and hope and pray that our lord god will think I’m good.

countries manufacture bombs and guns
to kill your brother for something that he hasn’t even done.
smog is ruining my lungs, but they aren’t sorry they’ve done wrong,
they hide behind their lies that they’re helping everyone.

in the end the good will go to heaven up above,
the bad will perish in the depths of hell.
how can hell be any worse when life alone is such a curse?
fuck Armageddon, this is hell

we’re living in the denoument of the battle’s gripping awe,
so what’s the use of being good to satisfy them all?

how could hell be any worse?
life alone is such a curse!
fuck Armageddon, this is hell

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“American Jesus” by Bad Religion.

Words and music by Greg Graffin and Brett Gurewitz. © 1993 Epitaph Records.
Thanks to B. Johnson for the song suggestion.

I don’t need to be a global citizen
because i’m blessed by nationality
i’m member of a growing populace
we enforce our popularity
there are things that
seem to pull us under
and there are things
that drag us down
but there’s a power
and a vital presence
thats lurking all around
we’ve got the american Jesus
see him on the interstate
we’ve got the american Jesus
he helped build the
president’s estate
i feel sorry
for the earth’s population
‘cuz so few
live in the U.S.A.
at least the foreigners
can copy our morality
they can visit but they cannot stay
only precious few
can garner the prosperity
it makes us walk
with renewed confidence
we’ve got a place to go when we die
and the architect resides right here
we’ve got the american Jesus
overwhelming millions every day
(exercising his authority)
he’s the farmers barren fields
the force the army wields
the expession in the faces
of the starving millions
the power of the man
he’s the fuel that drives the Klan
he’s the motive and conscience
of the murderer
he’s the preacher on t.v.
the false sincerity
the form letter that’s written
by the big computers
he’s the nuclear bombs
and the kids with no moms
and i’m fearful that
he’s inside me

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Shades of Truth” by Bad Religion.

Words and music by Greg Graffin. © 1998 Epitaph Records.
Thanks to B. Johnson for the song suggestion.

Here inside this quiet room there’s direction
Outside in the sultry noon – time reflection
A million scurry they are looking for advice
None willing to lend charity just exercise their
Shades of Truth, and partisan convention
Shades of Truth between desperate lines
Shades of Truth interpret my intentions
You don’t know I’m alright
Who authored the blueprints and made us captains?
Someone proclaimed creation, people listened
While children by the millions are thrown into this zoo
The so – called gift of clarity!
Oh what was God up to?
Shades of Truth, and lenient conventions
Shades of Truth, between desperate lines
Shades of Truth interpret my intentions
You don’t know I’m alright
So many walking parallel and pull their blinders tight
So few offer apology and accept others rights
And nothing absolutely can be cherished in the end
Can’t we all accept that it will all happen again?
Just partisan convention
Shades of Truth between desperate lines
Shades of Truth interpret my intentions
You don’t know I’m alright

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Materialist” by Bad Religion.

Words and music by Brett Gurewitz. © 2002 Epitaph Records.
Thanks to B. Johnson for the song suggestion.

You’re obsessed and distressed
Cause you can’t make any sense of the ludicrous nonsense
and incipient senescence
that will deem your common sense useless
this ain’t no recess!

I want to believe in you, but my plan keeps falling through
I know I have to face the harshness, grin and bear the truth
And I have to walk this mile in my own shoes
(and I’m no fool!)

(Chorus)
I’m materialist
a full-out realist
and I guess I’m full of doubt
so I’m prone to have it out with you
I’m materialist
There ain’t no fear in this
it’s for all to see, so don’t talk of hidden mysteries with me…

Mind over matter, it really don’t matter
If the street’s idle chatter turns your heart strings to tatters
Flatter hopes don’t flatter and soul batter won’t congeal to mend
a life that is shattered into shards
Was it in the cards?

The process of belief is an elixir when you’re weak
I must confess, at times I indulge it on the sneak
but generally my outlook’s not so bleak
(and I’m not meek!)

(Chorus)

Like Rome under Nero, our future’s one big zero
Recycling the past to meet the immediate needs
And through it all we ramble forth with persevere and climb
Our mountains of regret to sow our seeds

I’m materialist
I’m materialist
I’m materialist
I’m materialist

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