The stooge Stool pigeon of idiots King of jesters, pawn of comediennes A pillar that supports my own demise Believing all that's seen Through my vacant eyes
I'm rewriting paragraphs In my life that don't read well Once opposed to editing my regrets I've grown sick of this denial Tempted every hour By the benefits of being a liar Turning my back on what's at hand And writing stupid verse to make it all seem grand

Some say there's something to strife That serves those grieving spineless artists Transforms shit into a masterpiece And makes their vain attempt at pain So fucking romantic

And I'm certain that someday my time will come I'll crash and burn like everyone