These words are forced
handwritten by a man
blindfolded at gunpoint
by a person with a plan
to subversively rehearse
all the verses as a curse
to lock me up in shackles
and bury in the sand
of course in ten thousand years
an indiana or a fraser
will uncover my body with a pickaxe-laser
they will study my remains for a clue of some kind
and after quiet consideration the scholars decide
that nothing that I did
and nothing that I said
nothing that I wrote will have mattered in the end
cause the truth is I'm expendable like the rest of the world
nothing up my sleeve no hidden truths to be told
no sacred testament
no sentimental message
But that doesn't mean I'm not emotionally invested
in the words I write
and the lines I draw
the charts I make
the powerpoints are all
so meticulously crafted to create a reaction
in the mind of the viewer
I'm a minor distraction
but subliminally I'm reachin for the plug in their neck
and when that sim collapses I'll be hitting the deck
it's the thirteenth floor
with the lawnmower menswear
the elevator music and the synthetic horsehair
If you think you're god's gift to the world of art
I'd save the wrapping paper and dispose of the parts
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