All around me I see boring artwork
I hear songs and and poems I despise,
Read novels with no satisfying endings
And look at them through someone else’s eyes,
Thus what once seemed like a bunch of rubbish
From the perspective of the makers, though they’re dopes,
I know as long as we are free to make this sort of crap
We’re free from those who’d seek to crush our hopes.
So if you feel tired of the daily,
The regular routine has got you down,
Why not draw a purple line on canvas
And sell it to a bank somewhere in town?