I'd rather be a cack-eyed, akward nob than you
For all your perfect teeth and hand jobs
I'd rather be the silently resentful weird one
Than the back slapped, chest poking, young gun
For every moment of you've had of adolescent bliss
I've spent 10 regretting everything I've missed
For every stroke, every goal, every glance
And kiss there were blows
Failure, Mockery and less
Still I'd rather be me
You Preening, Dumb, Tool
You Vaccuous, Confident, Ignorant
Poor Dumb Tool
Who wants to be Me?
No-one, You
They sell magazines with how to guides
People shell out money, jog, get surgery
But mainly just dream of the day
They will be more like you
Gra** green, never greener,
Grows over the fence between us
Penis length I'm sure is in your favour
Your Penis in fact is the hero of this and every other hour
And can access all orifice, stink box, blurter and growler
They didn't break the mould when they made you mate
That mould was ma** produced, does it grate?
That on every corner and every bar there is you
You have never said one thing completely new
Not thought one thought not thought before
You CLEO mag, Channel V, As Seen On TV bore
You school kids, idea of bliss
You teen idol package, Construct
Robot, Product, Lackey, Baggage
I would rather be me, despite my self disappointment
I would rather be me, because of that disappointment
I would rather be me, unknown, weak, bent and poor
I would rather be me, with every mistake and flaw
I would rather be me, because in the whole universe of us,
In the galaxys of people in the glowing incalculable nimbus
You provide the great system with naught
Whilst from afar, burning, lonely,
And nearly invisible,
I, A Star