A lyrical cry for freedom from oppression of body, soul, and thought.

THREE HOURS AND COUNTING

Eyemèr returns with “Bodies,” a new single confronting the state of trans rights under the current White House. The song’s central line — “If I die of a hate crime, drop my body off at The White House” — echoes the words of artist and activist David Wojnarowicz during the AIDS epidemic: “If I die of AIDS, forget burial — just drop my body on the steps of the hospital.”

Though decades apart, both statements speak to the ongoing struggles of queer and trans people seeking recognition and support in an often indifferent world. With “Bodies,” Eyemèr transforms that feeling into a protest song built on an indie folk foundation, its subtle instrumentation giving space to a powerful message of visibility, empathy, and change.

Bodies

9.11.25

A protest song for the Pause AI movement. Covers encouraged!

Generation Ship

[Lyrics]

They call it “overcrowded” from their towers in the sky
Counting every poor kid like a crime they can’t deny
“Breeders in the gutter, parasites below”
Write us off as numbers in their Malthusian glow
Every broken window, every siren in the night
Pinned on all the nameless faces far from neon light

But the ones you blame keep the cities breathing
Mop up the blood while the rich keep feeding
Hands in the dark hold the whole world up
You never see them, but they never stop


In your brave new world, who cleans the filth you make?
Who scrubs the shit from the boots of the great?
Who takes the needles from your holy streets?
Who hides the bodies so you can sleep?
In your brave new world, tell me, golden boys and girls—
Who cleans the filth in your brave new world?



After the purge, the skyline’s blinding white
Polished glass and cameras, sterilized daylight
You crown your “pure ones”, saints in tailored suits
Buried all the bodies, but you can’t burn the roots
Second-class angels in janitor blue
Next in line for heaven’s trash is always someone like you

In this “perfect” world, one scratch is a verdict
One tiny record and you’re no longer worth it
Every little blemish branded on your skin
“Stain on the order” — throw ’em in the bin


What kind of brave new world hunts scars like prey?
Spits on the sinner for one wrong day?
Branding the broken as less than dirt
Calling that justice while you stay unhurt
What kind of brave new world? Don’t kid me with that word—
I’ve seen this shit before, this “brave new world”.



Now the “lower” ones you spared to scrub your floors
Drown their quiet screaming behind locked doors
Pills on the table, powder in their lungs
Trading out tomorrow for a few more seconds numb
You built your crystal kingdom, but the cracks still spread
Different crown, same rot, just painted white instead

Same old poison in a brighter bottle
Same old masters, same dead model
The air still stinks though the streets look clean
Your holy order’s just a crueler machine


What kind of brave new world leaves souls to crawl?
Calls them “waste” and lets them fall?
You tightened the noose, then dare call it grace
Just more decay in a prettier place
What kind of brave new world? Say it again, you cowards—
It’s not a brave new world, just braver in its rot.



Your gospel of the chosen is a violent lie
This earth was never meant in black and white divided skies
The canvas of existence isn’t yours to own
It’s made of every shade that’s ever bled and ever grown
You’re not the hand of God, you’re just a frightened child
Afraid of all the colors that won’t fit your sterile smile


Elites are only colors burning bright
Flares of gold and silver in the light
But a painting made of nothing but the glow
Is flat and dead with nowhere left to go

We need the greys, the bruised, the dull, the scarred
The muddy tones, the lives that came out hard
All of these hues in the same wide frame
That’s where the real, true beauty is made
Your brave new world is just a canvas torn—
The whole damn spectrum is where worlds are born.

Brave New World

[Lyrics]

You sit above the city in your glass-and-marble throne
Preaching market gospel like you forged the world alone
Calling every dirty job “replaceable” at best
While the ones who keep you breathing never get to rest
You stand a little higher, think that makes you more
But altitude is just a number, not a moral core

An élite should be the first to lift the ones who fall
Run beside the slowest step, not dance above them all
If you won’t share the burden, if you won’t share the strain
You’re not a guiding star, you’re just extra weight and chain


Noble rot on the vine, deadweight on our backs
Golden skin, but inside just cracks
You call it merit, but it’s pure self-love
Rotting in the rafters while you sing “above, above”
Every role is sacred in this breathing human frame
You’re not the hand of heaven, you’re just ballast in the flame
Noble rot, deadweight—
We carry you, and you dare call that “fate”.



No work is ever “easy” when it holds a world in place
From the night-shift nurse to the ones who clean your waste
Yet you price their lives in crumbs and call your hoard “deserved”
As if the sun rose daily just because you were preserved
The system polished you like some exclusive stone
Refined the art of spoiling you and left you there to throne

You weren’t born a monster, you were seasoned by the scheme
Fed on praise and profit till you swallowed every dream
The ladder pulled behind you, you renamed it “natural law”
All the hands that built it vanish from your flawless lore


Noble rot on the vine, deadweight on the hull
Shiny wine for castles, poison at the root and skull
You say “we move the markets, we’re the brains, we’re the few”
But ships don’t sail on captains, they move on every crew
No job is less than worthy when it keeps collapse at bay
You’re not closer to the heavens, you’re just in the damn way
Noble rot, deadweight—
Civilization won’t survive your weight.



Time sharpened up the system till corruption fits like silk
Turned élite into a mirror dripping honey, blood, and milk
You toast your own reflection, call it “vision”, call it “plan”
While the ones beneath your tower hold the sky up with their hands
Every year the gulf grows wider, every year you praise the gap
As if dragging chains behind us was some necessary map

But progress isn’t measured by how high you stack the throne
It’s how few are left in darkness, how few are left alone
If “success” means leaving millions choking in the dust
Then your shining crown is nothing but a symbol of mistrust


Noble rot on the vine, deadweight on the rails
You weigh down every future till the engine coughs and fails
You’re not the light of history, you’re fog around the sun
A parasite that thinks it is the one who makes things run
Every soul has equal worth beneath this fragile sky
Your halo is a story, not a reason to stand high
Noble rot, deadweight—
Cut the chain or watch the whole thing break.



An élite is not a title, it’s a vow you choose to keep
To bend down to the lowest place and lift the buried deep
If you will not run beside us, then get off this fragile cart
You don’t deserve the wheels if you won’t feel the weight and start
You are not the master of the heavens, just a speck against the blue
If you shine but never shelter, we don’t need that light from you


You’re just one color in a painting far too vast to hold your name
And alone, your brilliant pigment makes a flat and lifeless frame
The worth of every worker is the canvas, broad and wide
Not the little streak of glitter clawing for the brightest side

Deadweight dressed in noble rot, your era’s running out
The world was never meant to orbit one small ring of clout
We’ll write a different meaning for the word élite at last—
Those who walk with every color, not the ones who hoard the past.

Noble rot & Deadweight

This is a medley we have been playing in protests at ICE's Broadview, IL abduction center and elsewhere in recent months. Once we realized that we had inadvertently been playing these three simple songs all in the key of A, and that they all contained the same four chords, it was a no-brainer to string them together. Very useful in protest situations where we want to both keep a groove going to sustain the energy of the crowd, and yet still be able to switch up the music just enough to keep it from going stale. Let's all get into the key of A for Abolition!

Medley In The Key of Abolition - at Cultural Arts Fest for Gaza - 10-12-2025

No More Angels

When a Simi Valley jury announced the “not guilty” verdicts in the case of four police officers charged in the beating of African American motorist Rodney King on April 29, 1992, Los Angeles erupted in a firestorm of anti-police protest.

Written by Max Felker-Kantor. Narration by Dr. Nicholas B. Breyfogle. Video production by Hannah Keller, Dr. Nicholas B. Breyfogle, and Laura Seeger. A transcript is available at https://origins.osu.edu/milestones/may-2017-1992-los-angeles-rebellion-no-justice-no-peace. 

Learn more about the L.A. Riots:

Abu-Lughod, Janet L. Race, Space, and Riots in Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007)

Cannon, Lou. Official Negligence: How Rodney King and the Riots Changed Los Angeles and the LAPD (Boulder: Westview Press, 1999)

Davis, Mike. “Who Killed Los Angeles? A Political Autopsy.” New Left Review 197 (1993): 3–28.
Independent Commission on the Los Angeles Police Department, “Report of the Independent Commission on the Los Angeles Police Department,” (Los Angeles: The Commission, 1991)

Stevenson, Brenda. The Contested Murder of Latasha Harlins: Justice, Gender, and the Origins of the LA Riots (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013).

Webster, William H., and Hubert Williams. “The City in Crisis: A Report by the Special Advisor to the Board of Police Commissioners on the Civil Disorder in Los Angeles.” Los Angeles, October 21, 1992.

This is a production of Origins: Current Events in Historical Perspective at the Goldberg Center in the Department of History at The Ohio State University and the Department of History at Miami University. Be sure to subscribe to our channel to receive updates about our videos and podcasts. For more information about Origins: Current Events in Historical Perspective, please visit origins.osu.edu.


The 1992 Los Angeles Rebellion

circa June 2024 mandamano. Backed by guides, invisible hands. Backed by love, backed by indigineity.  Real militants are warriors of love. Thats real militancy. That is a spear. This is a return. Listen to the rain. Find comfort in the darkness. This is ngwendete gang. This is ngwendete culture. 

green

All songs are released into the public domain. 
Please feel free to download them.
No need to credit me, and you're even free to sell it if you like.
Hmm, but if you like it, I would love for you to help infected&spread my songs!
Link Free.  feel free to expose it anywhere you like.

I am a bacterium with mycolic acid on its surface.
I will damage your lungs.
And..... Smash commercialism.

https://mysticouroboros.github.io/MUTE-POET-RADIO/

🎶🌈 Indie Folk songs that scream 'mental health' & 'LGBTQIA' - Type 'Eyemèr' & press play!

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