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