Now
three chords, and tasteful profanity,
speaking out what’s on their minds
about who and what was wrong
like a hammer to my head,
they opened up mine.
now all I eat are lemonworth saints
and my vision is stuck in smole
no longer a paragon of innocence
a sick mind now filled with questions
does a stranger become your friend,
just because you ask for their name?
a computer boy with fancy gizmos
all my books and stupid little toys
living a world with no substance
I show nothing but control
I don’t worship their imaginary friends
I can’t lie, or force myself to believe
in their fictionalized accounts of past events
that happened two thousand years ago
a life of awkward mornings
isn't any life for me,
I don’t transverse the skies of Harlem
despite the status quo
all from one catchy melody
the nation of my thoughts
have had a revolution
written new declarations
and run things a different way
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