Who do I need to impress?
By putting myself under duress?
Does it really matter how I dress?
For this silly thing they call ‘success’?
And what about the way I act
Can I publicly keep my undies intact?
Or empty out the remnants of urine?
With everyone asking me where I’ve been?
Seems I have to take care of it all
And spend much less time at the mall
Maybe I’m just interested in all
What I can do…call
Rather than maintaining the ordinary slew
Of commitments, relationships, and financial piggy bank
That grows and subsides as I live
Yet still, they all want me to give
A shit about whatever they’re selling
Material thoughts keep on swelling
My brain that’s already cramped
With ideas of how to stay camped!