Conceited like Me
By Dillon Collins
Man or child, tame or wild,
they all in some way have chanced to see,
the work of the artists, conceited like me.
Why should we artists think that our work,
is worthy of notice? It's worth a smirk.
We're self-centered hobos, that dig through the trash,
if only to find something we think's not for ash.
Then away we go with the fruits of our labor,
just in time to think we're some kind of savior.
Lets take it to the world, go to Carnegie Hall,
then crumble when they tell us we're not ready to crawl.
Shattered by the ones that have seen through our scheme,
it seems now "conceited" is only a dream.
It is a selfish thing to be an author,
to think the world would care what we have to offer.
This i have heard and I suppose that it's true,
so i guess i'm conceited for writing to you.
Call me a swine, the scumm of the earth,
for being a stowaway on ship-board, and sleeping in your berth.
This doesn't make me any more of a freak,
because I swear i've been conceited every day of the week.
Basic "humanity" has caused us to believe,
that there's only one thing in this life, to receive.
