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I'd rather be a cack-eyed awkward knob than youFor all your perfect teeth and hand jobsI'd rather be the silently resentful weird oneThan the back-slapped, chest-poking, young gunFor every moment you've had of adolescent blissI've spent ten regretting everything I've missedFor every stroke, every goal, every glance and kissThere were blows, failure, mockery and lessYet I'd rather be meYou preening dumb toolYou vacuous, confident, ignorant, poor dumb toolWho wants to be me? No oneYou? They sell magazines with how-to guidesPeople shell out money, jog, get surgery but mainly just dream of the dayThey will be more like youGrass green, never greener, grows over the fence between usPenis length I am sure is in your favourYour penis, in fact, is the hero of the this and every other hourAnd can access all orifice, stink box, blurter and growlerThey didn't break the mould when they made you, mateThat mould was mass producedDoes it grate, that on every corner and every bar, there's youYou have never said one thing completely newNot thought, one thought not thought beforeYou Cleo mag, Channel V as seen on TV boreYou school kids' idea of blissSongtexteYou teen idolPackage, Construct, Robot, Product, Lackey, BaggageI'd would rather be me, despite my self-disappointmentI'd would rather be me, because of that disappointmentI'd would rather be me unknown, weak, bent and poorI'd would rather be me with every mistake and flawI'd would rather be me because in the whole universe of usIn the galaxies of people, in the glowing incalculable nimbusYou provide the great system with naughtWhilst from afar, burning, lonely and nearly invisibleI, a star Aus Songtexte Mania