Collect your novel petals for the stem,
Evascerate your fragile frame,
And spill it out on the ragged floor,
A thousand different versions of yourself,
And if the old guards still offend,
They got nothing left on which you depend,
And off with their heads,
You're not obliged to swallow anything you despise,
See, those unrepenting buzzards want your life,
As sure as you have eyes,
Just put yourself in my new shoes,
And see that I do what I do,
Because the old guard still offend,
(Their pudgy hearts and slimy hands)
they got nothing left on which we depend,
And off with their heads,
To swallow anything you despise.