nI'll smile wide until my mouth consumes my face and bodynMaybe my life is fine but I'm finding insidenIs just a mass of a million people I've metnAnd it's not making any sensennAll these words mean nothingnBut if modern art is so apprehensible nWhy can't I find meaning an anything I thinknIt should flow from my mind to my mouth I knownThe idea never reaches my brainnI don't want it to be this waynnI'd sell my soul for a thought of my ownnIt's cryptonesia where ever I gonI don't have drinkin or religionnTo help me with my singinnI have no inspiration of my ownnnMaybe it's pretentiousnTo speak of a subject I know nothing aboutnAnd it's definitely patheticnThat I try to think of a thoughtnI just sing about my writers blocknIt's sad, it's sad, it's really fucking sadnnAnd if I did have a thoughtnIt'd just blend into the chorus of extrasnChanting rhubarb and sarsaparillanOh my thoughts don't mean anything to anybody anywayn