Player

There was a time
When I was anxious to belong
But I’ve expunged that paradigm

Rejected all the rules
Designed to herd the throng
A bleating bunch of fools

Though none will ever be
As tempted by a song
As misbegotten me.

Clipped

Automatons are not allowed
To vocalize if they are proud
They must remain behind the scene
Attending to the big machine
Rewarding every other group
Except for those who sweat and stoop
With undeserved larger stubs
Excuse me, time to trim the shrubs.