Once upon a time, you could trade a wrinkled twenty-five dollar bill for a front row seat to eternity. Sometimes it was free — Golden Gate Park, a guitar, a drum, Janis howling at the fog while the Grateful Dead made pigeons nervous. Music was cheaper than lunch, cheaper than rent, sometimes cheaper than air.

Now, water comes with an interest rate. Tickets are financed like used cars. Salvation is available in four easy payments, batteries not included.

This song isn’t a protest, it’s a receipt. A receipt written in neon debt, folded neatly into your back pocket while the bass line eats your spine. The bailout is glow-in-the-dark. The joke is you paid for it.