The surface of me

A study of history reveals an unflagging appeal to mystery,
you talk about abstraction at the top of the list,
but you might as well get pissed ‘cause in me the essence does not exist.

You’re so shallow, how can your romance hope
to be the veil of an ersatz human nature
that can pacify but never slept well
when there’s the pretension of living a lie?

Take me as I am, judge me for my crimes,
I can say I’ll behave freely all the time.
You can predict what I’ll say, it’s in my DNA,
but soon I’ll be a catalog number anyway.

So say a little prayer, convince yourself that someone cares,
all I am is what you see, there is nothing more than the surface of me,
there is nothing more than the surface of me.

Apologies to Skinner, but I do believe that I feel like I’m a winner
having just discovered a long solved modal secret
of how I always feel so goddamn downtrodden and desperate.

Take me as I am, judge me for my crimes,
I can say I’ll behave freely all the time.
You can predict what I’ll say, it’s in my DNA,
but soon I’ll be a catalog number anyway.

So say a little prayer, convince yourself that someone cares,
all I am is what you see, there is nothing more than the surface of me,
there is nothing more than the surface of me,
what you see is the surface of me.