Existentialism and the Modern Non-Conformist

This vessel of beauty, ugliness, purity. shit, and life.

Sits before you. spewing what you ought to be.

In his perverted candy bowl glasses view of the world.

He does so uncaring of you, stroking his own self worth.

He'll climax all over your pretty precious little eyes.

Glossing over all the weird and wild bits of life.

Don't you like the taste of his heavy industry?

I thought you did, because you take it whenever you can.

So, come with me, and feel the room around you.

Lick the furniture, smell your computer.

Experience everything like you never have.

Reinvent yourself, so you can reinvent the world.

Pour a cup of tea for the lazy hippies,

and pour it on their unwashed scalps.

Teach them that you have a bit of cosmic knowledge,

and only the godly will get it.

Pretend to be really nasty, like just plain fucking mean.

Trip the douches, and tell them what you think of their collars.

Act like a really tough son of mothers gun club assistant.

And guess what? In this wacky world, you will be.

What makes a man? Is it a pound of flesh, or six inches?

What makes a person? Can you tell me?

In this world where everyone is a stranger,

Who can tell you what you are? Or rather, who's to tell you you're not?

I read shakespeare in my underwear, in front of my bay window.

Because I like the bard, the breeze, and braying laughter.

After all, all the worlds a stage, and i'm a streaker.

Get a good look, before it becomes modern art.

Have you ever listen to a piece of music?

A little bit of that sexy wonderful chaotic mix of noise and sound?

Sure you have, but I have a harder question right up next.

Have you ever become to a piece of music? (No, you're lying.)

Ten thousand miles away, a kiss is still a kiss.

And infidelity burns all across the world.

So, lets all cheat, lay with the redheads, and commit some hot adultery.

Help global warming with the flames of passion.

I want you to not love me, not adore me, and heaven forbid, follow me.

I want a sharp kick in the nuts, and a bitch please, with a 180 turn.

Show me you have listened, by pretending you never heard a word.

Become your own rock poet, and I'll know i've done my job right.

So, you've got to the last stanza, but that just isn't the truth.

It's the first one, just written with different words.

I've got you wearing my candy bowl glasses,

And I think you can guess what comes next.