Cyclops

Save your mundane platitudes for this who give a shit
I’ll burn in Hell, and be through with it
I got a life. It ain’t big, but it’s a life
And I’ve got clothes, and heaven knows that I’ve still got my health
I look good, if I do say so myself
I got a soul. It ain’t yours, but it’s a soul
Chalk up my lack of fire to self control
All the dicks with nightsticks, poison boys in blue
All the dumb and uglies in your wrecking crew
They’ll bleed me out. Nothing I can do
I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. (Which, incidentally, I’m not)
Weren’t you the guys with «get lost» eyes that made my high school great?
You found me again, but this time you’re here too late
‘Cause I paid my dues when I wore corrective shoes
That’s when I earned the right to ignore you
Toughest kid in gym class, terror in the hall
Necking with the prom queen, captain every fall
You can’t cut me now ‘cause you knife’s gone dull
It must piss you off to know it all