Your ideology is based on ideas.
You watched a documentary
That fired your soul up plenty
But your mind has dream diarrheas
You can't actuate the fire of your heroes
You roll out intellectual phrasing
But you're killing time - you're pacing
In a waiting room of zeroes.
You try to fool those closest
By saying 'I'll do it - just watch me
I'll play piano better than Liberace
I'll design a boot better than Versace
I'll write my Joanie Loves Chachi
I'll score perfect in Bocce
But your vase is filled with dead roses.
You sit around while I live.
You spout postures and what-ifs
And make up unused guitar riffs
While I work and constantly give.
Soon, your parlour room chatter
Will dissipate into the ether
You or the words - but none will choose neither
And your invisible friends shall scatter.
Your ideology is based on ideas.
You watched a documentary
That fired your soul up plenty
But your mind has dream diarrheas
