I tell you what ails me, itís me, or
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what was me -- that person
droning on about world changing aspirations,
suckling from the same teat as every other fledgling no-talent
that just wants to make a difference, to inspire
and motivate because
thatís all that ever matters.
You know what?
They all say that shit.
How creative is creation at the cost of sounding pre-packaged
and sold as alternative, artsy, cutting edge or new wave
crashing on the sands of uniformed preachers, street-corner santas
peddling magic with professions of passion and dream-laden cackles
to passersby that just want to laugh, to love, not
complicate their daily steps with questions
Oh! star gazer, brandishing an acoustical joust,
decorated in guttural lyrics from the soul,
be sure to smoke 2 packs daily while
entrenched in diseased linens surrounded by ashen
soldiers of misfortune
further complicating your starving artist
From coffee tables to talk shows
to paparazzi confessionals
they all drown in the same ill-cooked stew --
of lofty generics.
Yeah, yeah, we all know.
You just want to change the world -- Well,
the world has to want to change.