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 got a problem with the way I think
I got a problem with the way you think
That you can program me like a damned machine
I'm going to 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 poets working part time jobs
While pissy people picking shoes as stars

I know that I should be the last one to speak
About this
But even sellouts have their dreams
Set the music free

What the hell was I trying to prove
I ran away so young and now on the move
Like a vandal I wear my mask
And all you punks back home, you can kiss my ass

'Cause I got a feelin' deep down inside my soul
It's taken three whole years to gain control
And I ain't never, no never, no never
No never, no never, no never coming home