Self-Destructive Zones

by Mike Cooley

It was 1990, give or take, I don't remember
When the news of revolution hit the air
The girls hadn't even started taking down our posters
When the boys started cutting off their hair
The radio stations all decided angst was finally old enough
It ought to have a proper home
Dead, fat, or rich, nobody's left to bitch
About the goings-on in self-destructive zones

The night the practice room caught fire
There were rumors of a dragon headed straight for Muscle Shoals
'Stoner tries to save an amplifier'
And it's like the dragon's side of the story is never told
When the dream and the man and the girls hang around
Long enough to make you think it's coming true
It's easier to let it all die a fairy tale
Than admit that something bigger's passing through

The hippies rode a wave putting smiles on faces
That the devil wouldn't even put a shoe
Caught between a generation dying from its habits
And another thinking rock and roll was new
Till the pawn shops were packed like a backstage party
Hanging full of pointy ugly cheap guitars
And the young'uns all turned to karaoke
Hanging all their wishes upon disregarded stars

My Grandaddy's shotgun is locked in a closet
And it never shot a thing that could have lived
An old man decided that you couldn't choose your poison
Till you're nearly old enough to vote for him
They turned what was into something so disgusting
Even wild dogs would disregard the bones
Dead, fat, or rich, nobody's left to bitch
About the goings-on in self-destructive zones