Our art has no real meaning behind it

And if you ask us, we’ll say

“I made what I wanted, you tell me why”

Then we’ll leave it with you for a collection of dimes

So carry it off, this piece of culture emulated

When really we never were part of the culture

We just told you what it told us

Value it, frame, fame, prices and a name

Auction our senseless regurgitation of you

Then praise us, we’ll love it

But we know it’s undeserved

We see less meaning in it than you do

But who can really see their own place in life

When art is only valuable

To those who are willing to value it