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What you do is what you are |
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And wishing upon distant stars |
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Won't improve the hole you're in |
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And won't absolve your deepest sin |
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But action is no gift from some covert and lofty god |
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It's dependent and weighty all the same |
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And it's oh so easy just to keep to yourself |
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Then you're at the mercy of imbeciles |
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Now I didn't make up the rules |
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But clearly we are led by fools |
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It is wise to know their ways |
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So you know how not to behave |
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But sometimes we find ourselves in desperate need |
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And we look to those of privilege and power |
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It's then we learn compassion sits inert upon their shelves |
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And we're at the mercy of imbeciles |
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No action is no gift from some masked spirit in the sky |
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It's reducible to flesh, mind and bone |
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And it's oh so easy just to keep to yourself |
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But then you're at the mercy of imbeciles |
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Imbeciles, imbeciles, imbeciles |
