This Song I Wrote is a far ways away from here

With it, though, I swear you could get your conscience clear

You could make your sobs soak the heart of some financier

Who thinks that gold licks the tip of each well-aimed spear

You could demand a recount of any crooked polls

You could uplift your spirits like you're wearing platform souls

Or walking round on stilts your heart controls

Through choking soldiers bent o'er streets of coals

Yeah, you could go straight to the war-torn wrapped in gauze

And deep-freeze them with a worthy cause

While the breeze through the trees gives applause

You keep walking while the healing thaws

Through fields that Cezanne draws

You change your feet to tiger's paws

Ask which road is Shangri-La's

Take a left at the Land of Oz

Pass the statue of Santa Claus

Then you'll know you're in this song I wrote

This song I wrote could make a politician sweat

Stab a snapshot future through his conscience like a bayonet

Show him wheelchair dowries in the cradle, crying, "Massive Debt!"

And it's ev'ry phrase'd be a sword-tongued epithet

And it'd lick some pea-brained "education president"

By stirring up each couch-trousered resident

And getting them to look inside their porcupine coats

To see beneath their purse a throbbing heart

That's being robbed a vote

And be thankful this here's a Voter Republic

And get in the booth or see a Notary Public

And mark a ballot true, and approved

And by the millions, by God, we'll prove

To those fuckers who can't feel to groove

That they ain't wanted, pack their things, and MOVE!

Clean out the sin, we're movin' in, it's time

To rid the world of your covert crime!

The only thing to stop us now is a rhyme

Well, then, I see... it's just a song I wrote

This song I wrote might be my ticket outta here

The only thing anyone else might ever hear

And since it might work I guess I'd best make this sincere

To educate, and raise someone's consciousness one tier;

To combat crap heedless hoodlum popstar tarts emit

Too busy trying to top the charts to dare admit

To the spiritual casualties they inflict

On their fans, as they walk Fame's road, so yellow-bricked

The Fame they seek to get the spotlight shown

On them, to preach, and let themselves be known

To me, and you, and her, and every other drone

So they're the flower to be sucked on, to be grown

But each idea of theirs is a vapid seed

It's from a soul where fame's the only need

Yet in this world, where the god is greed

Vapid is valid if the purses bleed

These and other injustices cause

Me to calmly re-ink my claws

And let the muses rejuice my jaws

To let go a little song I wrote

It might seem like, with all of these

Impassioned platform pleas

I should be singing "Vote For Me!"

But I'm not, don't get me wrong

I'm just a singer, and this song

I wrote, I wrote for me