Hey, I knew you when you had frosted-tip hair
When you listened to The Smashing Pumpkins
When you were lazy and carefree
And you copied off of me.

Hey, I knew you when you aimlessly wandered the halls
looking for a vending machine and a quarter
When all you had was a backpack and angst
When your car had no bumper and chipped paint

Hey, I know you
Not as this sniveling, disaffected perfection-pusher
Not as some right-winged orator of damnation
Not as this devouring greedy pencil pusher on a pedestal

I want to go back and show you the new you
You, the coward.

What would the you of then think?