nothing in our world shall ever go to waste
we are to start up a museum of bad taste
to enshrine the stripped down soul of reality tv
and stuff our empty souls with a greasy maccy d
we are here to salute the salesman's constant push
to celebrate the bad karma of president bush
thatcher and reagan they showed us the way
how we can have anything if we're willing to pay
there are many things in this life that are sent to vex
horoscope hope, useless love and motel room sex
every head occupied by a backseat driver norman bates
every single person can write a list of what he hates

disassociate yourself from the human race
and read your magazine to find your place
plastic surgery can erase any permanent trace
of identity that has settled into your face
sanctity can be protected with a tazer
all the other damage reversed by a laser
there are no permanent tattoos in this world
the future in the fortune cookie foetal curled

all this psychological hocus-pocus this karmic junk
shall infect your soul like throwaway editorial spunk
an infection of thought that spreads like a wildfire meme
there's no eye, no i, only aye in a functioning team
all the useless cul-de-sacs of soul the self-made mazes
the fashions, whims, mental gyms, stupid crazes
inaugurate it all and put it in display cases
the museum of bad taste holds all our faces

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