At the Formerly British Council Supported English Centre

Know I feel the purpose of your art, buried in books that try to stay anything but outdated
All the pushers trying to leave their mark, every single suited man, vile and red-faced
It's a little much, gotta filter out the mush
Smile and face the modern tyranny, monetary gain was never on your list of needs in the first place
Trying just to speak authentically, putting out your feelers, wheeling with the dealers, cutting out your own way
It's a little much, gotta fiddle with the slush
Know we can't be anything but inextricably linked to the spots upon your soul
Every time I see you sitting in your giddyup blue jeans, I feel you needing something after all
Know I feel the purpose of your art, buried in books that try to stay anything but outdated
All the pushers trying to leave their mark, every single suited man, vile and red-faced
It's a little much, gotta filter out the mush