I'm a satyr it seems
And I like to beat around the bush
If you know what I mean;
I'm a red-blooded male
With time on his side,
And while i'm open to ideas,
I only ever go along with mine.
I'm certainly not about to cut my losses
With the blade formed by the masses,
The flames in this industrial inferno
Will never see my ashes.
And these manacles may well scream into the street
But the awkward looks that follow
Will not see me beat,
I'm not obsolete, they're obsolete.
Through this silence I concoct my plan,
I want to take me where I can;
To see the fjords of Norway
And Copenhagen's treats,
To feel the pleasure in the victory
Without the bitterness of defeat.