This one’s for you, you spat out brat,
The result of Big Bank’s lovers feud with pop culture
Oh, misguided child of the ivy leagues,
Post-modern hyper-capitalist cool cat,
This one’s for you.
Oh, Misguided child how I want you,
I want to place my head between your better-than-thou thighs
And have you squeeze till my eyes cry blood
And my tongue doles out a pathetic orgasm
Oh, Misguided child, what fun we had
Doing blow all night, dancing to chillwave in the soft light
Of the sunrise, creeping in through bay windows
Looking out over an ocean of slow-moving oil.
Oh, Misguided child, how we spoke,
Our tongues shitting all over the place,
Saying nothing profound and yet,
The weight with which we swung it.
Oh, Misguided, misguided, I want to use the word
Misguided till it has no more meaning,
Till the assembled letters don’t know where to go,
I want to turn it into an onomatopoeia.