If I were an elephant, the lights would be upon me and I would have a wagon tied to my tail. But 30 bullets wouldn’t bring me down I would take out the reactionaries first Blood on the ground, and heads rolling around I could make the front page, with my picture. But bleeding hearts die slowly And because of the end, I have reached a new beginning with Ansel Adams paintings and a novelty rock. The cognitive process has simply, and entirely, broken down And we are no longer who we say we are I'll be the cowboys, and you be the indians We'll shoot ourselves full of holes and die like thespians. But it wouldn't matter anyway Because If I took a free pen, each time you said "career" then your cup would be empty but mine still half-full. The coffee mug with a faded name that's not even yours Scraped at by years of Jet Dry and compulsiveness But screw the apprehensiveness, it doesn't matter Competition is impossible within bubbles and soapsuds. But I'll win anyway Because we don't just live the American Dream we are all inside it, suffocating, faces pressed to walls. I know that they'll get me eventually, but I also know That other elephants will come back, to look at my bones In their morbid fascination, because that’s what they do And I'll do that too, until I take into account who I am. But reality is too subjective