So here are the Deathrats lyrics. Posting these is a really nerve racking thing for me and I can’t help but feel terrifyingly exposed, thus I am posting a bit of explanation for each of the songs. So it goes. – christine

Sense of Entitlement
I’ve been socialized to critique every part of my own body
I can’t accept compliments or appreciate my own form
But I can’t leave my house without someone calling at me
Everyday I’m confronted with what other people think
What makes them feel so entitled to my body,
Why am I subject to their desires and what they think?
If I’m denied joy and authority over my own body
What makes them think that they deserve any?
I’m expected to look in the mirror discontented with what I see
And if I feel confidence in my body or my sexuality
Then it exists for you, it’s certainly not for me
It’s unacceptable for me to feel these things, but you can tell me if you like what you see?
Hands off, hands off of me, keep your fucking hands off of me
(I wrote this song with street harassment in mind. Its about dealing with the frustration of feeling that I have such limited agency over my own body on both legislative and day-to-day bases, but knowing that any dude walking down the street may feel as though they have the right to tell me their opinion of my body, comment on the way that I present myself, or even straight-up grab me as I’m walking to work or school. I feel like it applies to a lot more than just this, but its what I was thinking about.)

I’m Fine
Too anxious to engage in a conversation of any meaning
We cling to small talk to deal with ourselves
Intended to simplify, we push each other farther outside
I feel more exhausted, but I’ll say, “I’m fine”
So often we talk without really saying anything
Are small talk, gossip, and chit-chat all we have left?
Sometimes I think it’s just me, my awkwardness through everything
That keeps up this feeling of disconnection
But what do you actually mean when you ask me how I’m doing
Do you genuinely care, or is this about you again?
You’re sick- I’m unwell- How long- until we get over ourselves
(I feel like everyone claims to hate small talk but we all engage in it anyway. I hate going to shows and feeling like we’re participating in a community that poses itself as accepting of people with various anxieties and neuroses, and yet we just talk about bullshit. While on one hand I get it, and I admittedly partake in it, I think that everyone could make more of an attempt to be real with one another.)

Self Obsessed
I can’t get over the fact that you believe it’s legit
To use that fact that you’re feeling bad to treat everyone around you like shit
Too self obsessed to maintain friendships or even just be nice
It would simply drain your energy to look me in the eyes
You take pride in calling out others for failing to meet your standards
That’s cool, we all do it, but what I don’t understand is
How you can crucify others for acting just like you
And all you really do is talk shit and glare from across the room
Its clear you’re fucking miserable, woe is you, its tragic,
And on top, you’re less accountable? Get over yourself, I’ve had it
So what is your excuse?
Do you really have it that bad?
(The first line of this song is “You’re not helpless, you’re not hopeless, self destruction is a privileged notion”. Its from the song “Break Down the Cell Phone Walls“ by a great band from Boston called Old Sarum. Check them out.)

Girl Style
We’ve been taught to hate one another and we replicate their standards
We cut each other down to size, each of us starved and socialized
I’m sick of the punk boy revolution, its ordinary
When women can support women, that’s something revolutionary
Why lament the loss of our girl style then, when we’re just as angry now
Why do they look backward to Kathleen Hannah, when there are so many of us now
You’re not satisfied, well neither am I
If we’re hating each other, we’re hating ourselves
If we can’t trust each other we can’t trust ourselves
(I wanna give a shoutout to Huggybear.. I’m tired of hearing straight, white, middle-class boys talking about revolution, because frankly, they don’t know shit. There is so much more that could be said about that. Regardless, this is really about how my relationships with my female friends mean more to me than pretty much anything in the world. It’s about bonding over the bullshit we all go through and making fairly unbreakable ties. Its also kind of calling out people who conflate the involvement of women in punk with riot girl, because it dates and simultaneously limits the reality of women and feminism in punk. It ain’t over.)

Fuck It
I wake up each day full of dread, I’m terrified and bored with the day ahead
Hour after hour confined by institutions, categorizing problems and solutions
I don’t want to go to work today, I’d rather have a life
I don’t want to go to school today, I’ve been up all fucking night
I’ve wasted enough time learning your lessons, when do I learn for myself?
I’ve sat inside too long today, I’m feeling so unhealthy
I’m told I’m learning efficiency, placing value in production
Its really just obedience, I listen up, I sit down
This drains all of my energy, another day without meaning
Hours of my time that amount to nothing
If education is liberation then why does this feel like a trap
I’m wrong and you’re right, this equation doesn’t make any sense
Why do I believe there is value in these books that don’t mean shit to me
We seek authority in others, to keep denying that we have any
I’d rather get a real night’s sleep, I’d rather see my friends, I’d rather live for myself
I think I’ll just stay home
(I don’t want a career, I don’t want to be constantly producing. I just want to feel healthy and be a decent person. So, fuck it, right?)

Let Down
You left at two, now you’re here but gone
You’ve emptied out that home
Don’t you listen when he says we can’t lose you over and over
Small talk, too tired to listen, one more pill- let down
Keep pretending that you’re okay, one more pill- let down
Oxycontin, flexirol, soma, then alcohol
Becky is your ghost, but some say that you’re gone
Never talk, won’t listen, one more pill- let down
Keep thinking we’re all okay, one more pill- let down
Numb thoughts, no voice, one more pill- let down
Dulled eyes, no feelings, one more pill- let down
Do you remember yourself? I don’t think that you can
You’ve given up on us, and I don’t understand
But as I grow I can only hope
I’ll be nothing like you