It’s alright, I don’t expect you to
take the rocks life throws, and throw them back,
and keep on throwing till your biceps bulge
and all the rocks are gone. Instead, you’ll slack
and whine, “Back down! There’s nothing we can do!”
You just retreat and never dare attack.
It’s alright. I don’t expect you to,
you’re insipid, repulsive, typical.
It’s alright, I don’t expect you to
lift a sock out of your drawer and be
a hero, be the saviour of the moment,
sowing justice, strewing harmony.
Glory simply won’t occur to you.
You’ll never care you hold a golden key.
It’s alright. I don’t expect you to,
you’re pointless, repulsive, typical.
It’s alright, I don’t expect you to
lend a hand to friends with ankle-high
morale, or listen, understand or care,
when you can state their tears are ears of rye
compared to your strife-jungle, grasping few
ideas of how their famished years drift by.
It’s alright. I don’t expect you to,
you’re indifferent, repulsive, typical.
It’s alright, I don’t expect you to
plant yourselves in someone else’s clogs.
You’re certain you could live my life much better
and that you’ve got the right to snort like hogs,
like you’ve been through the same things I’ve been through.
You hold no ointment when life beats and flogs.
It’s alright. I don’t expect you to,
you’re dismissive, repulsive, typical.
It’s alright, I don’t expect you to
recognise magnificence, true grit,
real passion. Since you’re empty of these objects
and envy jerks in you until you split,
you’ll twist your brain to hurt the bold and true,
pretending you’re not dragging them through shit,
and as they flail and whimper in their pit,
you shrug, demanding an apology
and that they sell their spirit’s residue
to your god of mediocrity
to whom you proffer desert-souled sieg-heils,
your head crammed full of nothing but denials,
you robot with your sanctimonious spew,
judging people at the speed of light.
It’s not alright. But I can’t alter you,
you’re unalterably repulsive and typical.
