I don't even know your name
I'd reckon you've forgotten mine
From the outside of the envelope I stamped with my last cent

I'm not writing to complain about the price of gas
Or the carporations derailing public transportation
You harangue hypnotically
While they buy and bury green technology

I'm not writing to complain about the plastification of our culture
The living Kens and Barbies
The Starbucks, the McDonald's, or the Arby's
The landfills that won't decompose
[Or] the fact that the emperor's
Wearing standard issue army clothes

Pez Dispenser Head

Before you open your mouth
With your perfectly molded hair
Before you unhinge your jaw, force-feed me endless sugar pills
I've got something to say

Pez Dispenser Head

I'm not writing to complain about how you sold our airwaves
We've lost control of the information
That pounds this transfixed TV nation
You've all but sold off the very air
To be filled with shit that I can't breathe but you don't care

No, you don't care, Pez Dispenser Head

So now you must be wondering why
Why I've written you at all
It's the anthrax on the envelope that's making you feel sick
You've had a good run
There's time for one last phone call
To sell ad space on your coffin