Spiel

Rebellion is an art
But let's not reduce art to paint
Like a fortysomething
Fading popstar
Painting makeup on his face

Painting masterpieces with inkjet printers
Speaking volumes script in hand
And making sure
With such allure
That there's a chair
Before he takes a stand

The last thing an American idiot fears
Is a voice robotic
A spiel on repeat
The only thing that American idiot hears
Is the selling point for so-called outlash
The infectious but no so inventive beat

A metronome programmed to sound like a drummer
Programmed to sound like an artist oblivious
To whether or not his eyeliner's smudged
Long over wearing pants too tight
And trying to return to the naked word
Cause that's where the art of art was