This Song I Wrote is a far ways away from here
With it, though, I swear you could get your conscience clear
You could make your sobs soak the heart of some financier
Who thinks that gold licks the tip of each well-aimed spear
You could demand a recount of any crooked polls
You could uplift your spirits like you're wearing platform souls
Or walking round on stilts your heart controls
Through choking soldiers bent o'er streets of coals
Yeah, you could go straight to the war-torn wrapped in gauze,
And deep-freeze them with a worthy cause
While the breeze through the trees gives applause
You keep walking while the healing thaws
Through fields that Cezanne draws
You change your feet to tiger's paws
Ask which road is Shangri-La's
Take a left at the Land of Oz
Pass the statue of Santa Claus
Then you'll know you're in this song I wrote

This song I wrote could make a politician sweat
Stab a snapshot future through his conscience like a bayonet
Show him wheelchair dowries in the cradle, crying, "Massive Debt!"
And it's ev'ry phrase'd be a sword-tongued epithet
And it'd lick some pea-brained "education president"
By stirring up each couch-trousered resident
And getting them to look inside their porcupine coats
To see beneath their purse a throbbing heart
That's being robbed a vote
And be thankful this here's a Voter Republic
And get in the booth or see a Notary Public
And mark a ballot true, and approved,
And by the millions, by God, we'll prove
To those fuckers who can't feel to groove
That they ain't wanted, pack their things, and MOVE!
Clean out the sin, we're movin' in, it's time
To rid the world of your covert crime!
The only thing to stop us now is a rhyme
Well, then, I see it's just a song I wrote

This song I wrote might be my ticket outta here
The only thing anyone else might ever hear
And since it might work I guess I'd best make this sincere,
To educate, and raise someone's consciousness one tier;
To combat crap heedless hoodlum popstar tarts emit
Too busy trying to top the charts to dare admit
To the spiritual casualties they inflict
On their fans, as they walk Fame's road, so yellow-bricked
The Fame they seek to get the spotlight shown
On them, to preach, and let themselves be known
To me, and you, and her, and every other drone
So they're the flower to be sucked on, to be grown
But each idea of theirs is a vapid seed
It's from a soul where fame's the only need
Yet in this world, where the god is greed,
Vapid is valid if the purses bleed
These and other injustices cause
Me to calmly re-ink my claws
And let the muses rejuice my jaws
To let go a little song I wrote

It might seem like, with all of these
Impassioned platform pleas,
I should be singing "Vote For Me!"
But I'm not, don't get me wrong
I'm just a singer, and this song
I wrote, I wrote for me