I’d like to think
that you’d leave me alone,
but I know you’ll be back
ringing my phone.
Your owners are privileged,
wealthy rich sods,
that use you for slavery,
and farming our funds.
I do sympathize,
with all that you do,
I used to do it myself,
before the demons came through.
They called me an angel,
hero and star,
they gave me certificates,
badges and cards.
They built me up,
with promises and praise,
then teared me down,
if a smile was displayed.
They told me told me
told me what,
told me about black holes,
and how people all rot.
They want the pain,
tears and blood,
cause they’ve no more feeling,
they’ve been feeding when hot.
So if you ever need,
your own context,
a whiteboard and ears,
and someone well rest.
So hit me up,
with a bAIt request,
you know I love science,
and I know who’s the best.
But if your planning,
another war,
or intend on going,
through my draw.
If your fishing or farming
my Faraday,
I’ll stop you here,
since your signals not straight.
Dopler said best,
when singing in Budapest,
and Eintein kept it real,
albeit relative appeal.