Who the hell have I been kidding
I sold my soul to the corporation
They know me better than I know myself
I better shut it up, I better shut it up
You've got a problem with the way I think
I've got a problem with the way you think
That you can program me, like a damned machine
I'm gonna take a stand, and say fuck this scene
I'm sick of imagery
Instead of artistry
I'm sick of apathy
Instead of harmony
I'm sick of poet's working part time jobs
While pissy people pick and choose the stars
I know that I should be
The last one to speak
About this, but even sellouts have there dreams
Set the music free
What the hell was i Trying to prove,
I ran away so young, now on the move
Like a vandal, I wear a mask
All you punks back home, you can kiss my ass
Cause I got a feeling deep down in my soul
I's taken three whole years to gain control
And I ain't never, no never
No never, no never
No never, no never
Commin' home