Rock Is Dead

Ghost of Keith grins and sways Mick struts and frets his age Glimmer twins' shimmer clings Mister D dancing on strings Rock is dead, rock is dead Rock is dead Beat poet and a troubadour Blues harp and a Guild guitar Sings about waiting for a lover Another then a Dylan cover Folk and beat poets are deader Folk is dead Jet black hair, mascara Hides a pretty vacant stare Bent strings crying mettle Kicking on a wah-wah pedal Metal is dead, metal is dead Wah-wah dead Wrecking crew and vacuum tubes Sir George, Phil Spector, who? Wall of sound, what's that don't care Encoded incarnated in software Turn it down Gen-Z frowned Click, done, going going gone Mister DJ say get out the way Rock is dead Grateful Dead, vintage head Spring-loaded and silver coated Stretched, wound round again Well-worn path to tread Dead cover bands, not dead Not dead yet Bad-ass bitch wearing a chip Cigarette burning into it Hissing, prickling, gain cranked Pitch trapped in a reverb tank Do I look, dead to you? Do I look fucking dead? Rock is dead, rock is dead Rock is dead Rock is dead, rock is dead Rock is dead