ShowStopper

I'm not going to be another man's prosthetic tool,
Nor will I be considered ignorant or a fool.
I won't be used, controlled or pressured, frightened or ignored,
I won't be tolerated, or placated, or abhorred.
I shouldn't fight, I shouldn't think, and I should not believe,
I shouldn't live, I shouldn't breathe, and I should never grieve.
I shouldn't be permitted to think outside the box
I shouldn't be permitted to wear non-matching socks.
For if I do any of these, then I will soon be scorned
And when my personage is gone, the people will not mourn.
"Do as you're told," they tell me, "That's all the goal you need,"
Do I exist to be a pawn, and not instead to lead?
I'll make a little money, and spend it as I die,
I'm dying every second, and I simply don't know why.
Mayhap it is society, that great big pressing weight
That when I ridicule, they say I don't appreciate.
Maybe capitalism, which I'm not allowed to hate
Is the source of all confusion, the source of all the lies,
The source of all that slowly wounds, the source of all my "why"s
Maybe money isn't everything, maybe there's something more.
Maybe one person shouldn't be another person's whore
Maybe folks should stop working, and turn to lives of crime
When everyone's an honest thief, they prosper all the time.
Or maybe folks should show compassion, be kind and not cruel
The upper class should stop making unfollowable rules
But I don't want to cause a fuss, I'll never make a stir,
For if I do, I'll be declared "a foul, malignant cur."
So maybe I'll just sit here, and sing some brand new blues,
The blues of pity for those people who haven't heard the news
'cause though I'm slowly dying, I'm slowly living too
And I pity the majority, who doesn't have a clue
That if they keep submitting, they'll quickly be deprived
And lose sight of the truth and joys they have 'cause they're alive.
So this, friend, is the prayer I sing, for people everywhere
Let them know how much better things are when people start to care.