We are Straftanz. We scream freedom, yet we are not free. We are without morale and discipline, yet you adore us. We are the soft concrete that offers good rest for your weary brains. We p on graves to show you that parables are sometimes parabolic. We know the hand that held the chisel, but that does not mean the words engraved in stone have meaning for us. The elite tremble in fear, even though they have no idea what we hung up above their heads. We are not crazy, not wise, not original, not ironic, and not abstract. But we will drown your hierarchies in sweat. Get ready. Mainstream. Sellout. Overground.