You tattoo yourself, like you were never meant to last.
That´ll look like crap, I say, in twenty years. And you smile.
An ancient smile -- you´re not going beyond this revolution.
What would it take, you say, to make you like yourself?
Oh, I dunno -- a size zero appearance?
Is it eating you, the discrepancy between real life and your dreams?
Obsessively watching english Al-Jazeera doesn´t make you interesting.
Where is my revolution?
Damn, I think it´s televised.
Mood: 90 degree angle
Music: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised