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They think it's just a fashion

They think it's just a game

Fashion is just people playing

They are fashion, fashion is the same

Why because his boots

Weren't made of leather

Why because his jacket

Doesn't smell of flesh

Why because his meals

Aren't made of murder

Why because his music

Isn't the best

Just another wasted journey

In a world that does not care

Through a jungle bred of hatred

Through a head of matted hair

The reliquary fermenting

The belief it cannot die

We are left alone in silence

We are left alone to die

Fashion has not any reason

Than to exploit those who don't care

They may try to change our reason

But the belief will always be there

And when the party is over

The fashion melts back to its grave

The belief is left to crumble

The master then will beat the slave

If they say that we are dying

Well then my friend

They are not wrong

For what they see is

The death of their fashion

But not the end of

Something so strong

We will not fight them

For a fashion

We will not fight them

For a trend

We will not fight them

With their violence

But we will fight them

To the end

© MOTH 1983

Penned in a trendy pub/bar in Bath surrounded by goths in December 1983. Some of what we were campaigning for is now adopted. Some is only half-heartedly adopted. Some is only fashionable for as long as it has a sexy ambassador or a desperate party political manifesto to bolster.

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