Hardcore music is an interesting subgenre because of the way it converges with two other musical genres: punk and metal. The subgenre itself is classified by aggression, politics, and empowerment; the musicians and fans typically come from underprivileged and disenfranchised groups who utilize this style of music as a way to counteract societal oppression. More specifically, hardcore music is known for its expression of anger. Although punk and metal explore anger as well, hardcore music does it with more potency. And much like punk and metal, hardcore concerts are a place where anger can be expressed and shared collectively. At its best, hardcore music is threatening, aggressive, entertaining, and liberating. At its worst, hardcore music is formulaic, repetitive, and constricted by narrow-mindedness. But it does have a place within the rock music genre because musically and lyrically it’s blunt, straightforward, and honest. Every Time I Die is a difficult band to classify because their influences include both hardcore punk and metal. Lyrically, however, Keith Buckley is what could be considered a hardcore poetic lyricist. This is significant because within the hardcore genre it’s very rare to find lyricists that consider aesthetics when it comes to writing lyrics. Most hardcore lyricists are writing songs that are anthemic or because they want to get specific messages across. Keith Buckley is a tremendously unique hardcore lyricist because of his ability to be angry, funny, artful, poetic, romantic, dark, and entertaining all at the same time. To be all of those things as a lyricist in any genre is difficult, but the fact that he accomplished it from a hardcore positioning is even more impressive. His lyrical skills reimagine what the subgenre could be—more creative and more poignant. This essay explores five songs that showcase Buckley’s lyrical skills from the hardcore standpoint and sheds light on his importance as a hardcore lyricist who, during his time in Every Time I Die, challenged the traditional conceptions of hardcore music, and who refreshed the subgenre by making it more entertaining and interesting. It’s also important to note that none of the songs discussed follow a traditional lyrical structure. Because of this, it would help if they were viewed more as spoken word poems rather than songs with verses and choruses.

“Ebolarama,” from the group’s second album Hot Damn! (2003) begins with a quick, menacing, energetic riff and as soon as Buckley sings the first word “Boys” the music comes into full swing. Here are the first few stanzas:

Boys, shoot to thrill, from the hip
This time we put the “act” in action
We’ve tricked the pigs into thinking
That this auction is a pageant

In no time there will be
Makeup on our new set of cutlery
The livestock is starstruck
They’re all salivating like ravenous cartoons

Goddamn, animal
You better watch where you spit

The first noticeable thing about the song is the way Buckley draws out certain words to create a contrasting rhythm on top of the rhythm that’s been established by the instruments. He draws out the words so that the first stanza looks more like this:

Boys, shoot to thrill, from the hip
This time we put the “act” in action
We’ve tricked the pigs into thinking
That this auction is a pageant

Another aspect about the vocals that’s interesting is the fact that Buckley’s voice shifts back and forth between smooth and rough. He sings the first stanza in a smooth voice and sings the second stanza and couplet in a rough voice. This creates extra harmonic layers on top of the music which is quick, rough, and aggressive. What is especially interesting about the vocals in the second stanza is the way Buckley pronounces “cartoons”—it’s both humorous and disturbing because it’s not quite a growl, but not quite a chuckle either as it hits a high, unnerving note. And this is what makes “Ebolarama” such a captivating song: it’s both humorous and disturbing. Although the lyrics aren’t to be taken seriously, listeners get the feeling that they could be taken seriously. They aren’t to be dismissed as merely a joke. Narratively speaking, the song throws the listener right into a scene where it seems that the lyricist knows exactly what’s happening and it’s silly and aggressive and dangerous, but at the same time, it also feels like the right place to be. Here are the next few stanzas:

Squeal like soft music
If it helps, we’ll dim the lights on the floor
Neon bulbs are the cosmetics of swine

Everybody looks quite dazzling
Trussed up in their formal attire
You’d make a great secret if I could keep you
But we all spill our guts

Musically, there has been more than one shift, but the overall tempo remains aggressive and the tone is ominous. And Buckley’s voice is incredibly friendly even as he screams rough. And the cleverness of his lyrics begins to stack up: “We’ve tricked the pigs into thinking / That this auction is a pageant,” “The livestock is starstruck,” “You better watch where you spit,” “You’d make a great secret if I could keep you / But we all spill our guts.” One of the images that does pop up multiple times at the beginning of the song is the image of the pig—which is an animal that is perceived to be prone to rolling around in filth, is negative slang for the police, is susceptible to being possessed, and is slaughtered for pork. All of these connotations are evoked lyrically, particularly the connotations about being a helpless animal in a scene of chaos that feels a bit like a violent funhouse. However, there is a massive shift that happens in the next two stanzas both musically and lyrically; the song becomes hypnotically rhythmic but maintains its aggressive edge:

We’re locked and loaded
Drip fed and bloated
Our trigger fingers snagged
In the mouse trap of the moment

Turn the lights off on us
Like a moth left in the cold
In the dark, begging for more

In the first stanza there is clapping to help emphasize the catchiness of the rhythm. The second stanza becomes a bit more melodic and Buckley sings rather than screams. Lyrically, the song shifts a bit in a sense that even the lyricist himself feels a bit helpless in what he refers to as “the mouse trap of the moment.” And although mice aren’t specifically mentioned, the metaphor of the mouse trap brings in the feeling of a more vulnerable animal being caught for the purposes of extermination. This same feeling is translated another way through the image of the moth “left in the cold / In the dark, begging for more.” The moth, another small, vulnerable creature, caught in the dark, and yet, craving more chaos. The fact that Buckley sings rather than screams this stanza adds a brief moment of poignant emotion as a romantic, heartfelt counterpoint to the comic chaos. But then the song shifts right back into ominous aggression. Here is the next stanza:

When the urgency strikes you
You better not lose your nerve
It’s the rush that the cockroaches get
At the end of the world, it’s alright, it’s alright
There’s a pail by the bed if you need one
Oh, you’re doing just fine
When in Rome, we shall do as the Romans
When in Hell we do shots at the bar

Here, the lyricist addresses the listener more directly: “When the urgency strikes you / You better not lose your nerve.” Because the chaos of the scene is so intense and so anarchic and so unstable, and the listener is vulnerable to it, they have to be talked to a bit like a soldier in the middle of battle: “don’t lose your cool.” This isn’t necessarily because of fear, but because of thrill: “It’s the rush that cockroaches get / At the end of the world….” Here, another creature is brought in: cockroaches, insects that are perceived as being able to withstand an apocalypse. However, the singer isn’t just warning the speaker about the thrill of the moment, but also the adrenaline and overwhelm that accompany such a feeling: “There’s a pail by the bed if you need one / Oh, you’re doing just fine.” And then those lines are followed by this ending couplet: “When in Rome, we shall do as the Romans / When in Hell we do shots at the bar.” These lines are about adapting to whatever the environment calls for as a means of survival. Here, Buckley is telling listeners, We will do what’s necessary to survive in this chaos. And then another shift happens, bringing in another quick, catchy, rhythmic moment as Buckley sings multiple times: “Last call, k-k-kill it / Kill it, kill it.” It’s a place in the song that feels the most like a pause from the chaos of the music and lyrics, a space where everyone can catch their breath, but it’s also fun and stimulating as it’s mostly Buckley’s voice and the drums. However, the song picks right back up as quickly as it slows down. Here is the next couplet followed by another stanza:

We don’t think in terms of the morning afters
And we don’t honor a single word of the night before

In the meantime, we’re just thoughtless
Incessant buzzing apparatus
Disillusioned and lonelier than the last man standing
It doesn’t get any better than this

The couplet can be seen as describing the condition everyone in this situation inhabits: living anarchically in the anarchic moment. And the next stanza elaborates on that feeling as the music shifts yet again, but always remains ominous. It becomes evident that this state of being, although violent and problematic, is where pleasure and bliss happen. Although those feelings aren’t explicitly articulated by the lyricist in these stanzas, the song moves in that direction. After another quick shift in which Buckley sings “Run like Hell” multiple times, the last two stanzas articulate what now seems obvious—the song’s true purpose:

This is a rock and roll takeover
Living each day one night at a time
There were mercy fucks, there was blood
Oh, you should have been there by my side

This is passion
This is red-handed denial
I have no lover
And she hasn’t the prettiest eyes

Lyrically, this is where the song becomes the most sexual, the most intense, and the most complex. This is also where Buckley’s poetic nature really shines through. Prior to these last two stanzas, listeners, on an aesthetic level, have been listening to a poem set to music, but from a literary standpoint, this is where the poetic turn happens and it’s a big one because it not only lends itself to multiple interpretations, it changes the entire energy of the song. In other words, suddenly “Ebolarama” feels like a love song. Additionally, the “you” becomes complicated because at first it felt like the listener, but now the “you” feels like a beloved. When Buckley sings “There were mercy fucks, there was blood,” he sounds like the survivor of a sex battle of sorts, and if not that, something too indescribable to coherently articulate. But then he follows that line with this one: Oh, you should’ve been there by my side” which conjures up romantic longing. And the last stanza elaborates on that feeling of longing. Buckley asserts “This is passion / This is red-handed denial.” And what is he blatantly denying? “I have no lover / And she hasn’t the prettiest eyes.” And then the song ends abruptly as Buckley sings again “Last call, k-k-kill it.” The ending literally turns the song on its head. What was once a wild, anarchic, comedic, chaotic, violent romp now becomes a love song tinged with hurt. And it happens so quickly, that by the time the listener realizes the shift, the song is already over. There is no elaboration on the lyricist’s part. The person the lyricist wanted around the most wasn’t there. As stated above, the lyrics at the end do lend themselves to multiple interpretations, but this one feels the most poignant and most authentic in the sense that “Ebolarama” is really about the lyricist having the most thrilling, debaucherous time of his life, but in the end it meant nothing because he was without one important person: his beloved.

“No Son of Mine” from the band’s fourth album The Big Dirty (2007) starts off with a simple, seemingly understated riff and then Buckley’s voice enters quickly followed by the full brunt of the song, which isn’t necessarily fast, but it’s dark and aggressive and rhythmic. And although Buckley’s voice enters quickly, he draws out certain words in the first stanza:

We’ve drained full confession booths
Polluted drinking wells with our repentances and then stood
Grinning with our arm around the shoulders of a rotting child
Hold that pose
Provisional arrogant little pigs who devour their siblings

Vocally and musically, there is a shift that happens right after the third line where the opening riff returns, but sounds much higher and is played a little faster and Buckley sings “Hold that pose” and the music returns on the word “pose.” Lyrically, there are some interesting things happening here—two images: the confession booth and the drinking well. The confession booth is being “drained” and the drinking well is being “polluted” with “our repentances.”  Then there is a rotting child and not just pigs who “devour” their siblings, but rather “Provisional arrogant little pigs.” All of those lines feel a bit disturbing, but are surprisingly lightened when Buckley sings “Hold that pose.” The music shifts again into a much darker and aggressive place as Buckley sings multiple times: “Shoot that dog if we can’t afford to feed,” followed by a catchy repetitive “Hey, hey, hey.” Listeners are about thirty seconds into the song at this point and the narrative situation feels extremely dark, and although the song starts off with the word “We’ve,” setting up the premise that we, as a collective, are the perpetrators of this dark situation, the couplet that follows complicates that premise:

Famine fathered a moth
Famine fathered a moth that begot our fathers

This couplet sets up the actual premise of the spoken word poem, which has more to do with living with parental abuse. And even though this is a difficult topic, Buckley manages to keep it amusing through dark humor. The music stabilizes again as he sings the next stanza:

Keep your eyes down, I’m sneaking out
Hey, what’s the big idea?
Keep your fucking hands off the insight
That rat has got its mother’s eyes
That rat has got its mother’s eyes
(Hey, hey, hey)
Breeding ad nauseam
They are pouring themselves into the sea

The most enjoyable line to sing in that stanza is the one that’s repeated: “That rat has got its mother’s eyes” and it’s a perfect example of the black humor that characterizes this song. And what makes it even more satisfying to sing is the fact that the lyricist is a product of the environment he’s criticizing: “Breeding ad nauseam / They are pouring themselves into the sea.” After this stanza, the music builds up to another shift where Buckley sings multiple times: “Stop, thief.” This could be interpreted as a lyrical and musical rest point because listeners are about halfway through the song at this point and it’s building up to the final stanzas. That quick little riff returns as Buckley continues and the music comes back in full force when he sings the word “prom”:

Leave your drunken accident at the prom
It’ll grow to mend your broken heart
Don’t sign the dotted line
(Every house is a little bit of Hollywood)
Don’t sign the dotted line
(Every house is a little bit of Hollywood)

This stanza is interesting because it implies the perpetuation of a cycle that’s also encouraged by the entertainment industry. Somehow, it’s okay to continue this cycle of irresponsible youthful breeding because it’s validated by Hollywood. And even though the lyricist warns “Don’t sign the dotted line,” it’s followed up quickly with “Every house is a little bit of Hollywood” which suggests that going along with the premise is expected because it’s so commonplace. However, there is one deeper layer in this stanza: the idea that the “drunken accident” will “grow to mend your broken heart.” Broken heart is interesting because it points to the tragedy of the entire situation. It’s heartbreaking to be born into this environment, but then again, it’s faulty thinking to believe that procreating will heal that pain because all it does is keep the cycle going. So, although the lyricist isn’t entirely serious that the broken heart will be healed, pointing to it suggests that the lyricist, who is also a product of this environment, and who might be above it, understands the emotions of those who aren’t above it and live within it. Musically, when the repeated lines are sung, the song shifts into a catchy rhythm where the guitars play a dizzy little repeating riff and the drums become more pronounced. The song stabilizes once again as Buckley sings the next stanza:

The world is too incredible
To bring such ugliness into it
The artist is sneaking down the hall
To impregnate the last of its kin
Indiscernible mute
In a swarm of derivatives

This is where the lyricist acts as more of a commentator and it becomes obvious that although he was born into the situation, he is definitely not of it. And what makes this stanza so captivating is the word “artist.” And what the “artist” does is “impregnate the last of its kin.” Another interesting word is “its.” The artist is not gendered. Rather, the artist feels like more of a concept. And what the artist is creating is this: “Indiscernible mute / In a swarm of derivatives.” In other words, a pile of incomprehensible garbage. This can be taken as a metaphor for the environment the lyricist comes from: a place where trash breeds trash. And this point becomes much clearer in the last part of the song, where the lyricist takes on the voice of a parental figure. The music builds up again in a brief rest point where Buckley repeats “I deny any part.” This is where he draws a line: “I am not part of what I’m describing.” And then he repeats an incredibly poignant line multiple times as the music turns heavy again: “Deadbeat Godfather.” Here, Buckley’s vocal expression of anger is raw, drawn out, and powerful. After that, the song slows down significantly and a menacing repeating riff starts up. Buckley half-speaks, half-sings the last stanza, where he is giving an impression of an abusive parental figure:

Bite your tongue
Who taught you those words?
Blaspheme
When you are under my roof
Don’t ever say “rock and roll”
Don’t ever say “rock and roll”

The song ends on that impression. And this is key. This closing stanza shows how well the lyricist is able to articulate his environment and that he learned how to be articulate from rock music. This impression very well could have come from personal experience. The lyricist could have quite literally been on the receiving end of this type of verbal abuse. So, what sets the lyricist apart from his collective is the fact that he learned how to rise above it through music—and not just the sounds: the lyrics.

“Underwater Bimbos From Outer Space,” from the band’s sixth album Ex Lives (2012) is probably one of the most brutal songs the group has ever written, even though the song title might suggest otherwise. The lyrics feel like a poetic speech of sorts. And although dark humor and dark subjects are characteristic of Buckley’s writing, this song is truly a perfect fusion of aggressive, hardcore music and hardcore poetics. Buckley starts off singing “I want to be dead with my friends” twice as the drums come in and when he sings the second line: “Wide-eyed, brilliant, tie them in rags,” a really fast, ominous, haunting repeating riff comes in and then Buckley repeats the first line multiple times. It’s the closest thing to a chorus that this song has. After that, Buckley repeats the next line: “When the iron sharpens the iron.” The music seems to slow down along with Buckley’s voice which helps to exaggerate the horror of the song. Buckley’s voice is extremely rough, stressed, but also very empowered. The first line is repeated again along with a new second line, and then the first line again: “I want to be dead with my friends / Vulgar, loud, unforgettable end / I want to be dead with my friends.” Then, the song stops entirely and only the bass is heard. Then the first stanza is sung in a slow, choppy rhythm with the music cutting in and out awkwardly: “Let boredom cease / the beating of / our purple hearts.” The music and Buckley’s singing stabilize as he sings the rest of the stanza:

Against this, even gods fight violently in vain
What chance could we have stood?
We’re the last of the lost
But now we are the first of the fashionably late

The first stanza is really where the song, lyrically, feels like Buckley is giving a poetic speech addressed to a particular group of people, and it feels like a mixed group: friends and enemies. It also sets up an interesting blend of scenery: war and party. The first half of the stanza includes war images: “purple hearts,” “even gods fight violently in vain,” “What chance could we have stood,” but then the rest of the stanza seems to be descriptive of a group of dangerous rejects who show up to a party: “We’re the last of the lost / But now we’re the first of the fashionably late.” Then the song undergoes an interesting shift musically. It becomes a little softer, a little more melodic as Buckley sings in a smoother voice:

Loved ones decomposed
You’ll dance around their bones
Most of us are holy ghosts
All of us are holy ghosts

Obviously, death is a strong energy in this stanza, but the melody makes it more emotional without compromising playfulness. This stanza is repeated twice and it feels very much like a collective voice rather than just Buckley’s voice, which adds to the idea that Buckley isn’t alone in this song. There does seems to be a collective he’s addressing and this could be the place where the collective responds. However, the music turns ominous again as it shifts into the next stanza and Buckley sings

We made the scene when we made a scene
And though it was brief, it meant everything
Oh what a pity, now they’re bound to make us saints

In this stanza, he seems to be addressing a collective of comrades, where he’s describing how they took action in this unidentified war/party scenario. He sings a little bit slower again, exaggerates the word “scene” and the last line is repeated. The main ominous riff returns as Buckley sings the next stanza

Against this, even boys fight violently in vain
What chance could we have stood?
We’re the last of the lost
But now we are the first of the fashionably late

Although these are repeat lines, there is one significant change: instead of gods, this time Buckley sings “boys.” This is important because of what the word “boys” implies: innocence. Typically, gods know better, but boys don’t. This is a great rhetorical move on Buckley’s part. It also points to something else, the idea that wars are typically fought by very young men—boys essentially—and it seems that this war is no different. Right after this stanza, the song shifts dramatically and the last minute is slow, brutal, and to be honest, epically hardcore. Buckley repeats this couplet three times:

I refuse to be the only man
Put to rest in a mass grave

This is the place where it feels like Buckley is addressing not only his comrades, but his enemies. It becomes even more evident that he is on the side that lost the war, and he’s about to be put to death. The music and Buckley’s slow, aching vocals seem to echo this sentiment. But what also feels devastating about this part of the song is that the speech has turned into a plea. It’s as if the lyricist is taking the punishment for everyone else. He’s become what listeners could think of as a reluctant martyr. And this part of the song is dragged out to a strongly emotive effect. It’s the absolute bottom and it’s incredibly dark and incredibly unfair. Rhetorically, Buckley could be calling for others to stand up with him, because, aside from the collective singing earlier in the song, he is the only one speaking up. This is also why lyrically, the song feels like a poetic speech. It’s as if he’s trying to rally his fellow soldiers, but as he repeats the couplet, he remains alone. Then he repeats this last line three times:

You were all there with me

Although Buckley doesn’t sing this last line faster, he sings the line in a bit of a run-on sentence that looks like this “You were all there with me you were all there with me you were all there with me.” This has an interesting psychic effect. Because the lyricist is about to be put to death, and he’s repeating this last line, he’s implicating every single person involved: friends and enemies alike. This is a unique take on the martyr in the sense that the lyricist is not taking on the burdens of the moment to absolve anyone. Instead, he’s asserting collective guilt on a grand scale. Right after he repeats the line, the guitar gives off a high-pitched, strange squeal, and the song ends. The guitar squeal seems to represent the discomfort of the moment, but also acts like an abrupt cut to the scene. Because the song ends so quickly, on a psychic level, the lyricist’s execution is not shown, and this gives the song a sense of incompleteness that intensifies the anxiety. Although his speech was televised, or broadcasted, his death won’t be. And it could be for the reason he stated above: “You were all there with me.”

“Glitches,” off of the group’s eighth album Low Teens (2016) is a speedy, frantic song that, like the ones discussed above, don’t adhere to traditional rock song structure, but is also very rhythmic and poetic. The title “Glitches” does a lot for the song, because it sets up the idea of things being off-kilter and the lyricist is somehow partially responsible. Lyrically, the song feels very much like a Keith Buckley spoken word poem, more so than the previous songs that have been discussed because of the fast-paced nature of his singing. Musically, the song takes off right as Buckley begins singing the first stanza

So long to young love, I’ve anchored my heart
Farewell to small joys, I’ve burned down the bar
I’m changing my name so I don’t do no harm
Some say it’s vanity, some say it’s charm

Buckley sings these four lines without taking much of a pause, but he emphasizes the last word “charm” which is both comedic and disturbing. The line itself is complex because it suggests that the lyricist is seen by some as narcissistic and seen by others as charismatic. Here, he walks the fine line between being a hero and a villain. Right after that stanza, he sings a one-line refrain that comes off as the main statement of the song and the italicized words are drawn out by Buckley:

No levels, still the same old devils

And although “levels” and “devils” rhyme, this refrain seems to be suggesting that the lyricist might feel like his life is playing out like a horrifying video game. The title could also be reinforcing this idea, because glitches in video games can sometimes be disturbing, where strange things happen to characters or scenes that aren’t supposed to happen. But unlike video games, in real life, as the lyricist points out, there are no “levels;” however, much like video games, in real life, “the same old devils”—whether they be enemies or vices—are repetitive and don’t really change. Then he sings the next stanza

Frightened of fear, a servant of time
Kidnapped the queen, I have angered the hive
Snuffed out the star with celestial winds
Ended a cycle that started again
I stopped going out, they kept coming in
Was I saving my soul or saving my skin?

Here is where the line becomes even more blurred between reality and fantasy. It very much sounds like he’s playing a high-stakes type of video game, on repeat. When he says “Ended a cycle that started again / I stopped going out, they kept coming in” sounds like he’s playing the game on repeat to the point where he’s no longer connected to the outside world and the players in the game have invaded his consciousness. And then he asks a very poignant question: “Was I saying my soul or saving my skin?” which is highly layered: Why am I doing this to myself? Am I the villain or the hero? After singing the refrain a second time, Buckley sings the third stanza. However, there is an interesting musical shift that happens after the second line

Can’t hold it close, can’t let it go
Prisons and basements in slick model homes

Before talking about the shift, it’s important to look at these first two lines. The lyricist is caught between two states of mind—villain and hero. It becomes clear that he can’t figure out which he is and he’ll remain in limbo—“Can’t hold it close, can’t let it go”—until he figures it out. But the second line feels metaphorical because it’s two very different locations placed side by side that are suggestive of crime and comfort. They also feel like good locations for video game plots to unfold. There is a brief musical pause and then vocally, Buckley kicks it into high gear. He sings the rest of the stanza incredibly fast and manic:

I’m just a day-dripper on sacred terrain
My transformation went from mangled to tame
I don’t feel different but I don’t feel the same
I’m afloat with an ear to the ground
I built a fortress with some books and a phrase
I felt some heat, so I came out of the haze
I saw the end and I was truly afraid
I have begged but I’m still not allowed

This is where it feels like the lyricist realizes he’s both the creator and the player of this game that he invented but lost control of. The two words Buckley emphasizes in this stanza are “ground” and “allowed.” From what can be seen here, the lyricist is definitely not grounded and he’s not comfortable with what his consciousness created. The word “allowed” has to do with permission. And in that last line he sings “I have begged but I’m still not allowed.” This definitely suggests that the game has become so much bigger than him that he is now subject to its will. And the manic nature of his singing and the sped up accompanying music reflects that. But here is where the song gets even more interesting. There is a musical shift and a phrase Buckley sings twice; the italicized words are vocally enhanced

It’s a trap, lay the bait
Catch the rat

This could have multiple meanings. It could be the lyricist explaining what happened to him—that he became the victim of his own game, which was a trap set up his own subconscious to catch himself—the rat, or it’s a warning to others that to participate in this game is to be caught in a trap like a rat, much like the lyricist. Or it could be both interpretations at the same time. The lyricist is explaining how he got caught in a trap he built for himself and warning others against going anywhere near that trap. But what seems pretty clear here is that the lyricist is implicating himself to some degree: I am the rat. And the only way he can be heroic is by preventing others from falling into the same trap. Buckley sings the final stanza

Flew home and left the unknown in a lurch
Kept finding bodies, I called off the search
Went to a hymn from a funeral dirge
Church in the hospital, dog in the church

Again, this is where the blurred lines between reality and fantasy are highlighted. But it also feels very real. The game has brought about a lot of casualties that the speaker is no longer able to account for. But the spiritual element of the last few lines is interesting. Earlier in the song the speaker asked if he was saving his soul or saving his skin and here there is a kind of poetic return to that question, but the answer is still unclear. But what listeners can recognize is that once the speaker stopped trying to assess the damage the music shifted to a hymn. And hymns are typically about praise and worship. So it’s no wonder that a church would appear, which signifies a place of praise and worship, and a hospital, which in this context represents a place of emergency and death, and the presence of a dog—a domesticated animal who is still subject to primal instincts—which could represent the lyricist. As an added note, churches and hospitals are also prime video game locations. Right after this stanza, Buckley sings the repeated refrain and a final couplet:

Shepherd me back, this time I know
I don’t know nothing, I’m not in control

This might feel like the climax of the song; the word “shepherd” is spiritually significant because the lyricist now recognizes himself as a sheep gone astray. And there’s also the feeling of surrender that comes from the second line where the lyricist also recognizes he’s no longer the inventor but the victim of his own game. But the real climax comes from the following phrase Buckley repeats multiple times:

Mindful but gutless

There is a short break in the song where the only instrument is a guitar playing a simple repeated riff and then the rest of the music kicks in when Buckley starts to sing the phrase. The energy of the song has slowed, but the intensity is still high. Of the two words emphasized, “mindful” and “gutless” Buckley puts more emphasis on “gutless” especially on the last repeat. This phrase could be reinterpreted as “conscientious but cowardly.” This could very much be the lyricist’s final verdict of himself. He’s self-aware, but also a failure because he could not stop his own game. A game he possibly meant to create. And it had a ripple effect. It transcended fantasy and blurred into reality. But the song still isn’t over. He sings one last couplet and the italicized words are vocally enhanced

There’s no need to panic
No need to panic

This couplet feels disturbingly and humorously ironic because it seems like something that should’ve been sung at the beginning of the song, but it’s coming at the end as a bit of a nail in the coffin. It’s utterly pointless to panic now. The damage has already been done. And that’s why it’s an excellent way to end the song. Because it takes on new meaning at the end. There’s no need to panic anymore. The damage has already been done.

“Post-Boredom,” from the group’s ninth album Radical (2021) is part of a handful of Every Time I Die songs that have a party vibe. But what sets this song apart from the others is that it has a stronger emotional register and Buckley does more singing. His voice sounds smoother, more detached, but also more poignant. “Post-Boredom” is also the only song to be discussed in this essay that has an established chorus, although the lyrical structure still very much poetic. The song begins with a simple, but impressive-sounding bass intro. It’s a refreshing shift from the band’s intense beginnings. It also helps to establish a more relaxed, laid-back tone. Then the rest of the music starts up and Buckley sings the first stanza

I did a terrible thing and somebody should do something about it
I’m haunted by an eternal return, I never should have allowed it
I broke my own heart, I’m trying to forgive myself
But if it gets too close I gotta kill it, I’m gonna need your help

Here, Buckley’s singing isn’t manic or disturbed or chaotic—he’s simply singing. And the key phrase to take away from this stanza is “eternal return” because the song seems to be about someone who’s either immortal or stuck in some kind of on-going state of being and the lyricist appears to be addressing a beloved. Right after this stanza, there is a musical shift and Buckley sings the chorus

My annihilation (3x)
My annihilation kicked off post-boredom

Buckley sings the chorus in kind of a melodic-humorous-robotic way, which emphasizes the concept of annihilation which feels more ironic and metaphorical in this context. To be more specific, it feels a bit like a joke, like the lyricist is poking fun at himself. Here, “annihilation” is more about self-sabotage that backfires on the lyricist because it propelled them into another state of being called “post-boredom”—which also feels a bit like a joke. It’s also followed by a catchy guitar riff which reinforces the hilarity of the lyrics. Then Buckley sings the next stanza

I don’t want to be a better liar, don’t wanna make you think
That what you get is what you see just ‘cause you want it
Oh, this muddy water ain’t deep
I broke my own heart, I’m trying to convince myself
That I can suffer if I want, motherfucker, yeah,
Just put me back on your shelf

What seems much more clearly expressed in this stanza is the way the lyricist resists any kind of meaningful lyrical discourse. He’s not really trying to accomplish anything and even incriminates himself as being shallow: “…this muddy water ain’t deep.” But then it’s followed by the repeated phrase “I broke my own heart,” which feels like anything but shallow. It points to the tragic state of being the lyricist finds himself in, especially when he sings “…I can suffer if I want, motherfucker, yeah, / Just put me back on your shelf.” It translates into something like this: I’m choosing to be a lost cause, don’t waste your time on me.” But the tone is also suggestive of the idea that the lyricist has been given up on more than once. “Just put me back on your shelf” feels like the lyricist’s normalized, “unaffected” response to experiencing abandonment. The chorus is sung again, but this time it’s altered

My annihilation (3x)
My annihilation started before I did
My annihilation (3x)
My annihilation ended before we did

Vocally, Buckley plays around with the added phrases. He sings “started before I did” even more robotically, singing the syllables in perfect rhythm with the music and he does the same thing with “ended before we did.” Although it’s slightly humorous, that sense of detachment comes through very strongly. Destiny in regards to self-sabotage is also a factor here and the lyricist seems to recognize it in retrospect: “My self-destruction was always going to happen.” And yet, the fact that the lyricist claims it “ended before we did” seems like a bit of a lie. The ending might have more to do with the breakup of a relationship because it feels like the lyricist is still very much in a state of self-sabotage, but he’s reflecting on it—he’s much more self-aware of it. Musically and lyrically the songs becomes more energetic as Buckley sings the following chorus

I gave you nothing, you want more?
You’ll get more nothing

This couplet definitely feels like a joke and the way Buckley sings the phrase “I gave you / nothing,” helps to emphasize “nothing” but it also has more to do with how the lyricist sees himself: as not being worth much. If he’s nothing, how can he give anything other than nothing? There’s a short musical interlude and then these three lines are sung

Come on and give a big man a little thrill
Come on and give a sick man his poison pill
I don’t want no harm

This is where Buckley’s classic aggressive and manic singing shines through, but lyrically the lines feel sarcastic. The lyricist is pushing the joke of his destructive state of being even harder. But when he sings the last line one word at a time and emphasizes “harm,” it brings about a lyrical shift where now the song feels like a cry for help. This is clarified by the next stanza

I’ve done it all wrong for so long it feels okay (Feels okay)
From up here, the parties and funerals, they look the same (They look the same)
When every morning after is the same day
Every morning after is the same day

This is where the music and Buckley’s voice become much more melodic, which helps to amplify the emotional content of the stanza. The lyricist is fully aware that he’s experiencing a Groundhog Day existence (reliving the same day over and over without the ability to commit suicide). And not only has he acclimated to it, he’s not even part of it. As he sings “From up here,” which suggests he’s more of an observer of his own life rather than an actor, but he also divides his life into two categories “parties and funerals” which feels highly metaphorical. “Parties” represents pleasure and “Funerals” represents pain. And as he sings “they look the same.” The lyricist can’t even tell the difference between pleasure and pain anymore because he’s become numb to it all “Every morning after is the same day.” The music undergoes another shift and Buckley sings this couplet

I want one more last chance, last chance
Make me another mistake

He sings “I want one more” intentionally with each beat of the song before he screams “last chance” multiple times, but interestingly this feels like the theme of the song. “I want one more.” It doesn’t matter what that one more is. The lyricist is a bit of a glutton for anything that will make him feel more alive so that he can kill it with “annihilation.” But when he screams “last chance” and the last line “Make me another mistake,” he’s specifying his desire to “fuck up” because that’s how he sees himself: Give me one more chance so I can fuck it up (like I always do). This is also where the romantic element comes back in and listeners are reminded that he seems to be singing to someone he has feelings for. Here, he could be asking for his beloved to take him back again, but ultimately knows he’ll ruin it because although he’s highly aware of his need to self-destruct repeatedly, he’s not figuring out how to stop it. Then the last stanza is sung

All I can take is everything that I have given away
I walked in with one foot out the door, you knew that I was not gonna stay
I broke my own heart, I’m trying to forgive myself
I don’t give a goddamn about the magic, oh,
Just put me under your spell

Here, the romantic element of the song becomes more apparent. The lyricist seems to be telling his beloved: even though you and I both know I’m a fuck-up who can’t commit, I just want you to make me feel good. When he sings “just put me under your spell” this also has a deeper meaning: Save me. Because, as noted earlier, the lyricist is highly self-aware, but he can’t seem to rescue himself. And although he’s said more than once that he’s trying to forgive himself—he can’t. He thinks he needs his beloved to save him even though he says “I don’t give a goddamn about the magic.” What that really means is that he wants to experience surrender “Just put me under your spell.” He wants the grip of this vicious cycle of self-destruction to be broken by giving in to his beloved. After this stanza is sung, the chorus is repeated and followed by another short musical interlude and the following couplet

I gave you nothing, you want more?
You’ll get more

This is where the song ends. But lyrically, this is a really interesting move because “nothing” takes on new meaning here. “Nothing” is not “nothing.” “Nothing” is whatever the lyricist shared with his beloved. They both know what that “nothing” is. It’s intimate and it’s between the two of them. Then the lyricist tells the beloved “You’ll get more.” This is also incredibly interesting since earlier it felt very much like the theme of the song was the lyricist singing “I want more.” Here, he tells his beloved: I’ll give you the same thing I want—more. The beloved might be a bit of a glutton too. This couplet also signals a drastic shift in the song’s meaning. What’s realized here is that the song shouldn’t be called “Post-Boredom” because that’s a joke title. The song should actually be called “Self-Sabotage.” The state of being the lyricist is stuck in is one where he screws himself over constantly. And although the song has romantic undertones running all throughout it, here, much like with “Ebolarama,” it’s really a love song rather than a song of ironic detachment. It’s a highly emotional and intimate plea by the lyricist to his beloved to be saved. And even though the musical and vocal tones make this a party song, the nuanced lyrical moves suggest a deeper emotional register that has to do with wanting to surrender to love more than anything else. This is what Buckley has mastered—inserting clever emotional twists into songs that on the surface are disturbing, humorous, and meant to stimulate a good time. And “Post-Boredom” is a perfect example of a party song that delivers much more than it appears to be giving. In other words, it’s a love song cleverly disguised as a party song.

Keith Buckley’s lyricism definitely breaks the traditional hardcore mold primarily because although his lyrics are funny and aggressive and catchy, they are very unique in the sense that he inserts a lot of character in ways that make Every Time I Die songs more personable than most hardcore bands. He screams a lot, but his screams are very human. And it would be safe to say that another reason Every Time I Die can be classified as a hardcore band is the fact that typically hardcore bands put most of their emphasis on lyrics rather than music. In other words, in hardcore, the voice drives the songs and the music backs it up. And it might not seem that way because the musical style is highly aggressive, and it’s true that fast-paced riffs are what get crowds going, but it’s also common to see crowd members screaming along with the vocalist because, to their credit, hardcore lyricists write specifically for their audience which allows them to nurture and sustain a connection of commonality. Buckley’s lyrics, on the surface, are highly engaging of a specific crowd, but they are also incredibly complex, clever, and make use of irony, metaphor, and philosophical ideas about identity and the self. It’s not to say that the music doesn’t matter—it does—but it does feel like Buckley’s lyrical abilities are much more commanding than the music itself, and this is also what classifies the group as hardcore. As much as an observer at a hardcore show might see people moshing and orchestrating circle pits, they will also see people aggressively singing along. And Every Time I Die was no exception in this regard. Through Buckley’s hardcore lyricism, the band was able to develop a cult following that sustained them for over two decades. And that’s incredible considering the fact that a lot of bands—hardcore or not—have short windows in which they are able to establish and maintain a strong connection with an audience. But in hardcore it’s even harder to accomplish, because many songs are written in the moment for the moment which causes them to lack dimension and become dated. Because Buckley’s hardcore lyricism utilizes literary elements and contains so much nuanced personality, it’s able to transcend the hardcore genre while also redefining it. Keith Buckley’s lyrical work is a good example for aspiring hardcore lyricists to learn from in terms of how to have a strong impact in the moment and while also enduring well beyond the moment.

August 25, 2025