My life is a room that's full of schlock.

They tell me I'm smart, but I know it's a crock.

I've got a heart, but it's going to waste

And their rhetoric's grinding my hopes into paste--

So the more I learn, the more I hate.

Is there any escaping this hideous fate?

Only in death could I get away,

But I'd be a coward not to stay;

So I'll go on being my old, jaded self,

Haranguing the bastards that suck out my health.

One of these days I'll start a riot—

Maybe then I'll get some peace and quiet.