To those who feel entitled
I have a few words to say
to some I might seem stifled
others consider me small prey
the other end of the stick
may be in your near future
no matter who you try to trick
the fates are harsh and sure
fault falls all around you
but never upon your entitled self
it falls upon all who are in queue
or merely put up on a dusty shelf.
it bothers the books that live there
it crumples their pages with spite
it hardens the mood, poisons the air
it robs them of their perfect light
before schooling was for the poor
then only the rich were schooled
now it's for the entitled to endure
and for the dreamers to be fooled
You'll never murder the dreamer in me
this is my own world, my floor
where dearest dreams I create and see
I set them free and they do sore
I close my eyes and start to smile
because the entitled are barren
of thought and their imagination vile
their social performance arid.
And as I dance in a world of color
the entitled exist in back and white
trying to birth the next wise scholar
to deliver us from future blight
But despite all efforts they cannot
not just yet, not just quite
not while they're barren of thought
not while they have no sight.
They cannot see beyond themselves
they cannot hear my song this well
only you who are still on the shelves
only you buy what I have to sell...
One day it will all make perfect sense
what you read now will burn inside
it will no longer be an offence
but only secrets I tried to hide...
