Punk's Not Dead

The soul's not dead
it's harder but not stone
it's tough but still recipient
is breathing, squirming, moving.

The soul still burns with all its little flames
the jealous needles pricking
It hurts but waves of indiff'rence
are washing off the pain.

And reason holds the soul
so tightly in its clamps
the picture red and black
and grey and stealy blue.