Re: Is Your Child a Godless Goth?
Why oh why do these gothics keep going on about "it's that we like a certain type of music?"
That's like saying we condemn burglars just because they like beeping sounds, or object to an axe murderer just because he has a cat.
The cat has very little to do with it. It's everything else. In the case of gotho girl that means worshipping satan, hypnotising herself with grunting guitar sounds and then doing whatever suggestion emerges from the lyrics.
Hmmmmmmm..
Why would an "a specific taste of music" glorify hypnotism and vaunt wallowing with one's paramour in a trough of razor blades? I don't care if it's written the Phrygian mode, I care about the razor blades.
Why oh why do these gothics keep going on about "it's that we like a certain type of music?"
That's like saying we condemn burglars just because they like beeping sounds, or object to an axe murderer just because he has a cat.
The cat has very little to do with it. It's everything else. In the case of gotho girl that means worshipping satan, hypnotising herself with grunting guitar sounds and then doing whatever suggestion emerges from the lyrics.
Children of Bodom
Looking inside, your future uncertain
The fear grows as a sickness uncured
The silence agonizes, the word sound strong
Look inside the eyes, leave this world
Hate through the arteries
Mass Hypnosis
Uncertain of being back
They make you feel so good
Everything's darkened
Obey like a fool
.MASS HYPNOSIS
Looking inside, your future uncertain
The fear grows as a sickness uncured
The silence agonizes, the word sound strong
Look inside the eyes, leave this world
Hate through the arteries
Mass Hypnosis
Uncertain of being back
They make you feel so good
Everything's darkened
Obey like a fool
.MASS HYPNOSIS

Children of Bodom (after they've got you hypnotised)
I feel your vast desire
Tearing pain is flowing down your arms.
Sweet, red, warm stream I drink to make you released
Holding your arms, cherish this composure,
in the bed of razors we sleep together, forever...
.BED OF RAZORS
I feel your vast desire
Tearing pain is flowing down your arms.
Sweet, red, warm stream I drink to make you released
Holding your arms, cherish this composure,
in the bed of razors we sleep together, forever...
.BED OF RAZORS
Why would an "a specific taste of music" glorify hypnotism and vaunt wallowing with one's paramour in a trough of razor blades? I don't care if it's written the Phrygian mode, I care about the razor blades.
That is how we know they are disingenuous. And that is how we know who they really are.
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