a sullen figure walks along a dusty road,
his life was holy and he couldn’t bear the load,
he left his people and simple life behind,
he raised his torso and looked into the sky,
shouting his questions, looking for directions,
"what do I do now?"
now a confused schoolgirl stares at the TV tray,
the stresses of maturing compound every day,
she glances up to see her favorite video,
and gets ideas from Madonna’s nasty clothes,
in need of affection, she craves a direction,
her heroes offer her,
everyone’s looking for something,
and they assume somebody else knows what it is,
no one can live without the decisions of their own,
it seems so they look to someone else,
to tell them what to do,
tell’em what to wear,
tell’em what to say,
tell’em how to act and think
and compel others compulsively
until the world is all like them
a righteous student came and asked me to reflect,
he judged my lifestyle was politically incorrect,
I don’t believe in self important folks who preach,
no Bad Religion song can make your life complete,
prepare for rejection,
you’ll get no direction from me,
you’ll get no direction from me.
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