No Substance - Bad Religion

History doesn’t make something right

Consensus is not a fact-based exercise

You’re tied and bound to this self indulgent enterprise

We call America

A brush with a star, a token of love

A name in the sand, enough is enough

A diet of air, a face on the net

A fish your palm, your television set

Once you convince yourself, the universe falls into place

You’ve got your ideas and your posse of friends

You all make up rules and the fun never ends

But still there’s a problem, leaves you gasping for air

You look for some meaning, blank smiles are all that’s there

And still water stales a soft summer breeze

You cling to your hopes while your drop to your knees

There’s no substance