Playground boys pretending to be men
Seem to rule all three worlds
Doing lucrative business
With all those no good coffee shop girls
Entering the warehouse exit
That is impendingly full
I’m feeling like a cowboy
That has no business
Being expected to play by the rules.
In the corridor of patched up broken dreams
The robbed consumer is categorized
Neutralized, and finally desensitized,
Death is just the beginning
Of whatever that look is in their eyes.
I know a place far
From this pseudo-social bureaucratic reach,
Maybe one day soon you’d like to meet me
Out at that wild windy beach.
Where we can teach
The children what not to have to say
How to work but mostly how to play
Make them glad they screeched
And took the wrong turn off the highway