Beauty For Bosses

Today I learned That I wasn't built for the game That I'd rather play floor gigs for 40 kids Than any fucking festival stage I'm a martyr at most I'm a failure at least In the eyes of history I'll be no more than a leaf on a tree 3000 years of work surrounding me By forgotten anonymous artists Beauty for bosses Before fame was even a concept Some of them were stoned to death For the way that they expressed Today we're only stoned by debt and dope And twitter feeds of jokes Hand me that Obama phone Text me love notes Lay my head to rest on a museum bench And hope that they properly mummify me one day So generations can learn from my broken bones Dug from under man made mountains of ATMs and motherboards I am alone Self aware Fat Getting old Capitalism is violence They say it's all we know I read about a time before prisons existed Heard of an era before banks Before civilians were born victims Dreamt of a place with no cops Where skin color was insignificant Where you could love whoever you wanted Because it's nobody's business Fuck a world Where justice is impossible Where governments call cynics hostile And equality is a Utopian concept Fuck a world That forces me to suckle its teat Pay to breath And charges legal fees for a chance to be free If this is free Somebody please beat the life out of me (Just kidding….but seriously) I will die an artist, an artifact, a bad joke From a naive time when human beings still had hope This will sound better when I'm dead (x3) Everything sounds better when you're dead