Lyrics for Comedown Chorus are from Natalya O'Flaherty's spoken word piece 'Brass Tax': Brass Tax Working twice your age in hours For less than minimum wage But legally it’s all G So we’ll just turn the page To a different story Sure it’s only for the minute Ah there’s nothing in it And there’s nothing else out there Or at least that’s the fear Seeded in the minds of the youth since the big boy bankers burst the bubble And left us in the rubble The best of us still babies but still We’re the ones in trouble We get the burden of blame “Ah they’re all the same, Won’t get up off their backside Won’t get up off that phone” Why don’t you battle the landslide Of trying to buy your own home In 2018 It’s clear the working class is still a working machine And the electronic age is closing the gap between Man and manual labor Do us a favor And digitize the criticized aspects of human error Why you try code the compassion held by a carer Or a shopkeeper Who lets you off with a few quid At least once a week Cause he knows you’re struggling too And he knows there’s nothing else he can do But to ease your burden by a few Brass tacks To which you say thanks And he nods And yous know If it weren’t for to each other There’d be nowhere else to go The brain drain might’ve left us in drought But there’s no doubt That the stout and cider rain’s still a-falling Like the good times never left Cause the locals still a-calling Your name Every weekend the same Ease the pain Of a back breaking shift Or soothe your carpal tunnel itch Gather the boys make some noise Let out your cathartic cries Of times gone by And time to be And all the time you miss cause you see There’s no thinking when you’re drinking Sinking pints and drinking points Of contention flinch at the mention Of a well rounded discussion Boost percussion drum and bass Wreck the place Off your face Blissful disgrace It’s the power of the youth The slam cans and burn zoots Cause hands up don’t shoot Doesn’t come into it here We’re not living in fear Of the systematic semi-automatic Or the boys in blue But what’s true for me Isn’t true for you We have the privilege to accept our fate And blame the state with our commie dogma driving mates We have privilege to spray FTG and AGAP And still make it home to see mammy We have the privilege to be cogs in the wheel bricks in the wall With the net of means tested welfare to catch us if we fall And so We settle into passive aggression We settle into accepting recession We settle into blissful disgrace But never ignorance Because the only thing we know is our place