My life is a room that's full of schlock.
They tell me I'm smart, but I know it's a crock.
I've got a heart, but it's going to waste
And their rhetoric's grinding my hopes into paste-
So the more I learn, the more I hate.
Is there any escaping this hideous fate?
Only in death could I get away,
But I'd be a coward not to stay;
So I'll go on being my old, jaded self,
Haranguing the bastards that suck out my health.
One of these days I'll start a riot—
Maybe then I'll get some peace and quiet.