Lyrics: Horace Pinker. Pop Culture Failure. Refined.

six miles left to run there's your smoking gun that leads me to the fact
you've got no direction i've got a path to go unlike you have no goal i
may not rhyme but you've got no reason to write what will be sung to say
what will be heard by just like you who have no focus attention there's
just one thing i am sure of simplify and refine i don't wonder what you
mean when you say it's not hard to understand what you say this is now set
in stone don't move around rock the boat it won't be understood within definition
looking back now it's easy to see upheld this sorry tradition i turn my
back wishing that wishing that slow pace dead on words you say