Armed Prophets Victorious

by Renegade Kautsky

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Digital download comes with two bonus tracks and PDF booklet.

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released September 7, 2015

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Renegade Kautsky Brooklyn, New York

Left-wing lo-fi folk recorded in dingy bedrooms across the American hellscape.

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Track Name: Seeing You Ruins My Day
Three cups of coffee
Three glasses of cheap wine
Three months and counting
Since the last time I felt fine
I'm not gonna text you
Even though I want to

Half of a brownie
Probably more than I should take
Half of an hour
I can probably stay awake
I'm not gonna call you
Eeven though I want to

Every time that I run into you
I feel pretty far from okay
Sometime it might be good to inform you
That seeing you ruins my day

Four months of promises
Four more of hedging
Four in the morning
And now I'm alleging
I don't really miss you
Even though it's not true

I've read a few Plath poems
I've had a few beers
I've only been living
Like a foot for a few years
I say I don't miss you
Even though it's not true

Every time that I run into you
I try hard to not look your way
I'm sorry that I split an infinitive
But I'm just saying, seeing you ruins my day
Track Name: Hell Country
Set fire to this hell country
This racist, homophobic hell country
Set fire to this hell country
This misogynistic, transphobic hell country

I'm tired of Klansman cops with guns
Killing kids and getting paid vacations
I'm tired of the crooks who condone it all
Getting re-elected every goddamn fall

Set fire to this hell country
This nightmare neoliberal hell country
Set fire to this hell country
This neocolonialist hell country

I'm tired of Bill Gates and Jeffrey Sachs
White men's burdens on their backs
I'm tired of Gitmo and drone war
And I'm really fucking tired of Macklemore

Set fire to this hell country
This worker-bleeding, bottom-feeding hell country
Set fire to this hell country
This landfilling, planet-killing hell country

I'm tired of austerity and shock
Schools and housing on the chopping block
Food stamps cut, you know who to blame
Smell the brimstone, feel the flames

Set fire to this hell country
This vile, imperialist hell country
Set fire to this hell country
This late-stage capitalist hell country

Come every worker, from preacher to slave
Let's all dance on Ronald Reagan's grave
Hayek is dead, and so is Keynes
Let's desecrate their bourgeois remains

Set fire to this hell country...
Track Name: Do You Think the Waitress Hates Me?
Do you think the waitress hates me?
Do you think the waitress thinks I'm hitting on her?
I accidentally touched her hand when she brought my plate
I said “thank you” too cheerfully when she refilled my coffee
Do you think the waitress hates me?
Do you think the waitress thinks I'm flirting with her?
I swear to God I would never do that kind of thing
Even if I weren't gay, I like to think I'd still think that was gross

I used to know a guy who flirted with baristas
It sketched me out, but I never said anything
Maybe if it turns out that this waitress really hates me
It's karmic payback for not telling him to stop

Do you think the waitress hates me?
Do you think the waitress thinks I'm hitting on her?
She seemed a little agitated when she brought the check
Maybe that's just me assuming everyone's impatient with me
Do you think the waitress hates me?
Do you think the waitress thinks I'm flirting with her?
I really hope I'm just overanalyzing my behavior
Should I leave a giant tip? Would that only make it worse?
Do you think the waitress hates me?
Track Name: Postmodernism as an Alternative to Suicide
When every therapist has got a waiting list
And the suicide hotline puts you on hold
You might think nobody cares if you're feeling cruddy
You might feel like you're stuck out in the cold
Well, turns out that's true

Nobody cares about you
No one gives a shit about anything you do
Nobody cares about you
And if you think they should
There might be something wrong with you

Demeter heard the radio behind the radio
Transmissions just for her from Marilyn Monroe
Took an ounce, thought she'd announce
Nolo contendere on all counts
When she stood before the judge whose name we can't pronounce

Nobody cares about you
No one gives a shit about anything you do
Nobody cares about you
But if you think they should
There's always something you can do

Mitch Heisman blew his brains out
To get someone to care about
His unreadable, 2,000-page book
Giteau gave much the same harangue
"They'll buy my book once I am hanged!"
Still, no one gave it a thorough look

So you could emulate Peregrinos
And type up a manifesto
But suicide's a bummer if no one cares what you say
So take a hint from postmodernity
And write indecipherably
If you settle for obscurity
They can't throw you away
If they can't understand you
They'll think you have things to say

"Judge Schreber has sunbeams in his ass"
I think I understand Deleuze at last
David Graeber says we're medieval scholastics
But we're still getting tenure, so why not give it a pass?
Track Name: Big Others From Different "Good Enough" Mothers
Hiding in your living room, paralyzed
Retreat into the womb and close your eyes
When you had a therapist, you couldn't tell her
Anything that really mattered

Your mother's ghosts will come after you
Haunting is hereditary
Your father's beatings will bruise your children
Sadist from the cemetery

If it's convenient, he can come around
Press your face against the wall, bear the sound
Of the fabricated friendship, the forced rapport
Like you'd have with a drug dealer

Your mother's ghosts will come after you
Haunting is hereditary
Your father's beatings will bruise your children
Sadist from the cemetery

No one to confess to
No one to forgive you
Your mother raised you out of shit and piss
She couldn't have prepared you for this
Track Name: Father Saturn
Father Saturn, are you hungry?
Is my skin too tough to break through?
Father Saturn, will you spare me
Even if I disappoint you?

Play your old Cosby tapes
I know I can't escape

Father Saturn, are you angry?
Do you resent that day in June?
Father Saturn, do you hate me?
You've been silent all afternoon

Will we speak tomorrow?
Right now, I don't think so

Father Saturn, are you done yet?
Or do you need to howl some more?
Father Saturn, am I a threat?
I stayed in bed, you slammed the door

Last straw was when I cried
Swallow me with your pride