I'm a stranger in my own home
And I'm getting stranger by the minute
These words are like minutes
And I don't have any more to waste
Waste not, want not, important mantras for today

I'm just a drunkard at the pew
A pacifist with a machine gun mouth perpetually pointed at you
Dribbled, wrestled, spat, washed out
My words either wither or pierce with clout
But sometimes it's myself I begin to doubt
That whether whispered or done with a shout
My words will fall on deaf ears when they leave my mouth

It seems I'm ill-fated
That words will be wasted
When it seems that I've made it
To a decision to open my mouth

And that's the question then my friend
Will these nouns and verbs mean anything in the end
If I keep vocalizing, will they begin realizing
That I have some valid points without making myself seem self-satisfying

My rhetoric's a weapon and I'm sweating bullets
Aiming to touch your hearts through your gullets
I'm just praying to the heavens that I finally hit the target
There's just enough dry fields here for a fire and I'm aiming to start it
But all good things must find where to begin
I need to find the creativity deep within
The crevices of which my inspiration was found
Before it got clouded by my cultural dumb-down

I still have faith that I have some worth with what I say
And by God, I'm looking forward to that day
When I finally decide not to take
My power of free speech in vain
While knowing full well that I'm finally
Acknowledged and accepted
Liked and respected
And possibly never detested for what I have to say

Hopefully soon these fears will be dated
And I'm no longer ill-fated
With words that will be wasted
Once they leave this mouth