Beauty For Bosses

Today I learned
That I wasn’t built for the game
That I’d rather play floor gigs for 40 kids
Than any fucking festival stage
I’m a martyr at most
I’m a failure at least
In the eyes of history I’ll be no more than a leaf on a tree
3000 years of work surrounding me
By forgotten anonymous artists
Beauty for bosses
Before fame was even a concept
Some of them were stoned to death
For the way that they expressed
Today we’re only stoned by debt and dope
And twitter feeds of jokes
Hand me that Obama phone
Text me love notes
Lay my head to rest on a museum bench
And hope that they properly mummify me one day
So generations can learn from my broken bones
Dug from under man made mountains of ATMs and motherboards
I am alone
Self aware
Fat
Getting old
Capitalism is violence
They say it’s all we know
I read about a time before prisons existed
Heard of an era before banks
Before civilians were born victims
Dreamt of a place with no cops
Where skin color was insignificant
Where you could love whoever you wanted
Because it’s nobody’s business
Fuck a world
Where justice is impossible
Where governments call cynics hostile
And equality is a Utopian concept
Fuck a world
That forces me to suckle its teat
Pay to breath
And charges legal fees for a chance to be free
If this is free
Somebody please beat the life out of me
(Just kidding… but seriously)
I will die an artist, an artifact, a bad joke
From a naive time when human beings still had hope
This will sound better when I’m dead (x3)
Everything sounds better when you’re dead