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It's just an itch beneath the skin
I can't get it out or seal it in
I can't dislodge the need to scratch it
Screaming from it's root
It's an echo inside my head
A need to say what can't be said
It's the nerve tattoo, such a bad rash
Spiteful and divine
But that's OK
It doesn't matter anyway
It's still those with the least to say
That will be heard
Ah, the eloquence of trash
The persuasiveness of cash
Rings true like the whispered lies
Of half-forgotten lullabies
Designed to please
Designed to soothe
Designed to shift a million units or two
Designed to mean nothing at all for anyone
But that's OK
It doesn't matter anyway
It's still those with the least to say
That will be heard
It's no misunderstanding
It's all emptiness and words
I'd cut my veins to paint it as
Beautifully meaningless
Picturesque and absurd
It's a masterpiece I heard
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