Mr. Commissioner

Mr. Commissioner, can you believe
all that we seem to hold on to?
Wearing the wear of our work on our sleeves,
hanging our hat on the maybe
that one day our lives will be free.

Mr. Commissioner, please understand,
we all have our hopes and our dreams and
if we attain them we'll write our own song.
'Til then we'll just sing along.
'Til then we'll just sing along.

A shred of the truth would be all that we need
but people pay more for a novel.
They're only friends when it benefits them,
entranced by the host of the party
while the cooks in the back build the feast.

So Mr. Commissioner,
what's wrong with the world?
Nothing that cannot be cured.
The only requirement of life that we know is
we always will reap what we sow,
always will reap what we sow.

Now Mr. Commissioner, how should we plead?
Guilty by association.
Why do we all feel compelled to impress
with fifteen minutes of glory
and a picture to prove we're unique?
If everyone notices everything
then nothing will really be seen.