The numbers, the numbers,

Impossible to behold,

The numbers of people,

Simply doing as they're told,

 

My creative soul gives me form,

And makes me whole,

I refuse to conform,

I'll never pay that toll,

 

So go get lost in the crowd,

You foolish @*%^,

I'll stand here tall and proud,

Which of us will come unstuck?

 

How sad to see,

Originality beaten by apathy,

Perhaps the greatest,

Of all mankind's calamity,

 

Pay heed to the anarchist,

He is greater than the masses,

This one lives according to discord and profanity,

But perhaps we should all be pissed?

 

Is that not better than this cycle of sedation,

Popping pills and prescriptions,

Another insidious and subversive nation,

Our malediction is to fuel our addictions,

So join with my call to arms,

The war cry of the poet,

It's no longer enough to passively exist,

And we lead the way, so show it,

 

Two factions stand out above all,

The modest poet and the worthless fool,

The poet serves to create,

The fool lives to annihilate,

 

So I say to the masses,

$%& your apathy,

And **&& your ^#!*ing inability,

To look beyond the obvious and see,

The rage that burns in you and me,

 

And I ask,

Is this what you wanted?

To be a puppet,

Pulling on your own strings?

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