Revolution

for sale

So you fancy yourself a rebel, do you? A champion of the downtrodden, railing against pollution and automation, weeping for humanity? You decry the evils of society, call for radical change, and yet, your rebellion is confined to the stage, your voice a mere echo of dissent, your anger diluted by saccharine melodies and trite pleasantries.

You never ruffle any feathers, never step on any toes. Your "protest" is a performance, a hollow gesture that elicits applause but leaves the structures of power untouched. You speak of bombs and impending doom, but your accusations are vague and nameless, your outrage carefully curated to avoid offense.

(Carly said) You're a legend in your own mind, a maverick, a firebrand. But your rebellion is a costume, a poor imitation of a worn-out cliché. You've sold your dissent to the highest bidder, your righteous anger reduced to a commodity for the "conscious" consumer. Your music, with its intricate melodies and beautiful arrangements, belies your so-called protest, a soothing balm for troubled souls that does nothing to challenge the status quo.

You pretend to fight, but your battle is a charade, your weapons mere props in a self-serving performance. You're not a rebel, not a revolutionary, not even a threat. You're not merely a harmless poseur, you're actively complicit in the silencing of genuine dissent. When those who truly challenge the status quo speak truth to power, you turn a deaf ear, dismissing their words as irrelevant, their voices as mere noise. You're not just a spectator in the struggle for a better world; you're an obstacle, a barrier to progress, your silence a weapon in the arsenal of the oppressor.