Okay, I think, by now, we’ve established that everything is inherently worthless
And there is nothing in the universe with any kind of objective purpose
And you could scream for a hundred years, split that sky with a thousand curses
To tell the evil that men do and, honey, you wouldn’t even scratch the surface
Too many implications, not enough time to make them explicit
Too many generalizations, not enough time to make them specific
And I have spread my vile seed from the Atlantic to the Pacific
Now I’m begging you on my knees – please don’t make me get down and sniff it
Because if I’ve gotten more comfortable, surely I’m more complicit
Fat off the fruit of the tree of ignorance
I was born into this, now I’m dying because of it

Yes, it’s ‘us against them’ again, smashing the system into the dirt
Now we gobble brown M+Ms and put the whole thing onto a t-shirt
I heard about Audrey and the master’s tools, something about Joe chasing a storm in a mug
I could’ve sworn I saw the lord of the strummers standing on line at the salt mine with the slugs
And in such a weird world, it feels real wrong smiling
Now, sea to shining sea, Jersey sliding
And I’m fronting like a living boy on a long island

I heard ’em say the white man created existential angst when he ran out of other problems
Because the thing about those problems was, usually, more money would solve them
We’re breaking out of our bodies now, time to see what’s underneath them
I heard about my authentic self – what would I say were I ever to meet him?
I guess “Yr guilty of a terrible crime, and I know it was my birth”
I’m doing twenty-six to life now on planet Earth
I was taken into custody by a janitor

You know a life is laborious, but a minute’s manageable
When all the figures are fungible and all feelings are malleable
I’m desperately addicted but functional
Don’t want to be evicted from the wonderful underworld

Look at this young-ish man, already halfway off with his pants
He’s doing something weird with his hands, he’s got a multitude of outrageous plans
And he’s still trying to cough up that which he choked on in the churches
Look at him now, loitering in front of a vacant storefront, bearded and bedecked in army surplus
Don’t know why it’s so hard giving a shit when everybody’s telling him he’s full of it
He forgets if he felt oppressed or depressed or which one came first in this crazy mess
If he’d taken too much or not enough or which one was the worse one with this sort of stuff
And he’s so unsure if being ignored is half the pain of being observed
And that’s a lot to say without a word
But I know it’s a lot more than just being bored
I know it’s nothing more than just being bored