See the idiots as they roam.
They're quick to chase their ringing phones.
Brightly coloured lights attract
Spines contained in broken backs.
The promise of something more
Than what you know is assured
Of the things that you seek
Each blighted day of the week.
Brains on empty; mouths on charge.
Porridge language is discharged.
Mangled words and meanings lost.
Bleating herds of sheep - I feel like an ox.
See the idiots as they roam;
With brains as dense as airy foam.
That, my friend, is a paradox.
And, on that note, I feel like an ox.
But I am of the same breed.
My genetic code contains similar genes.
I can distance myself; build up a box.
I'll cage myself.
I feel like an ox.