King Midas sat on the toilet
Turning his shit into gold
Just gold bricking it, shitting it out
Until that toilet got sold
And you're like some shit alchemist
Who turns my gold into lead
To whom I bring my desire and you insist
That I take it elsewhere instead
And yet you hold up your fire
As if a beacon to guide me home
And I rise ever higher and higher
Only to always come down alone
So what is the point to this dichotomy
One in which you only give out vasectomy
And leave my dead flowers to rot til eternity
Comes round or hell freezes over
I'm cutting off now before I'm run over
I'm already a burn victim in the vice of the system
I'm as undisciplined as my rhyme scheme
I'm holding aloft my flag of surrender
Saying I can't take it anymore
Just leave me alone on my own private shore
This is the end of our un-alchemical amore
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