Farce and Fiction

I chase my toil Hammering a nail against the grain of fact I keep on bouncing back Misinformation is pa*sed Look left to the right, always fight or fight I painfully dissect, will never take as read Yet fall back to earth as the wretch Which suits them f**king fine Mister pessimism, a trait we'd all rather give up Mister pessimism, after this it comes so natural Reserving judgment wounds me time after time Exploitation becomes a daily grind Take a saccharine shot, not to humor the f**kers But the scheming scum have all bases covered Which suits you f**king fine From a catalog of lies, there is scant protection So you see dependability is farce and fiction Which suits you f**king fine