Please, riddle me this, oh math teacher- 

When will I ever use the inverses of matrices in my short, artsy, creative life?

When will I have to solve an equation to obtain a wife,

When will I have to recite a formula to get by; and who the hell cares if I know all the number to pi?

Tell me why the words you spit out are relevant to me. 

I am an artist, not a engineer.

I am a visionary, not a mathemetician. 

I am a free spirit, not a logical person.

Why can't you perceive that when you ramble on about these numbers and graphs

I'm sitting at my desk drawing drum kits and maps. 

Thinking of what my life is going to be about

making music in head and art with my hands 

Why can't you see, oh math teacher

That what you do is not for me.

What you do is far from me, what you do is repulsive to me.

What you do is stubborn to me, what you do is disgusting to me. 

However, to become a soldier, you must train.

To become a player, you must play the game.

To become a lawyer, you must learn to blame.

To become a better person, you musn't stay the same. 

So I'll sit through your lectures, oh math teacher

But not because I want to. 

Because I know in the long run it should be worth it,

maybe not, 

but in the end, I know I'll come out on top.