Freedom is an ironic thirst to slake
Break, snake my way out of these chains
Take the blame for the stain inflicted on the
Generation of liars, crackheads, tweakers
Sneakers, more important than your teachers
Features a misplaced greed, never been weaker
Morality, untuned radio, mental waves of fortitude
Attitude of empty suits, blank hands, face value
Zero cents in the bank account of metaphors
Bitter rhymes in times of frozen dereliction
Picture the mixture of misogynistic misters
Denouncing, pouncing, on darker berries mounting
Frowning, clown sings, hands unchained but heart
Bleeds for the youth in the favelas, don’t know better than
To shoot, no use to fight the past, tradition is a pistol
Whose bullet shoots to last, crass criticisms of art
Delivered fast, what makes a painting but emotional motes
Of trash, pain, abstract names in sundered plains
Buffalo knocked down dead, no one to blame
But the force that pushes, chooses to muse us, turn your fellow man
To a speck of dust, pale blue dot, earth shivers itself
It knows that the most marvelous, golden idol is just an inch away
From uselessness, fruitful bliss, ignorant to the solvent bit
Of truth, impossible to see
The bitter clown with shattered dreams is really
Truly free
