Always a song about heartache
testosterone running high
Rejection, shrieking attention
creativity being wrung dry.

Stop and see Earth’s insecurity,
a blooming mushroom cloud
Let’s hear our lewd impurity
screaming bloody loud

God makes boy meets girl meets snake
the dreamers can never seem.
Always the same, and always a fake,
but will the realists ever dream?

So here’s to the songs never written:
the pure, the simple, the light.
Here’s to the songwriter smitten
with the idealistic eye.