Trade your suit and glasses for sackcloth and ashes
Remain pure to your past self, unmasked and passive
Stay sophomoric and tragic, take slap shots, and don’t panic!
Affray? We’ll wreak havoc, you’ll be a mascot for the moribund
Stay savvy, trade your muses and nuance for fame and famine
Pyramid schemes for your dreams, is it fair?, oh you’ll manage
Imagine what we fashion when we see through your glasses.
Tape your education through conversation then charge you for classes
We’ll rape your souls in the marriage bed and claim it never happened.
So what will it be, your roots or our fruits?
The trenches or the barracks?
Do you believe anything will stick if we hold the field of carrots?