I blast my horn at some big jerk
who cuts me off driving to work,
leaves me cross, makes me curse,
and I’m angry at the world, angry at the world..
I read the news, it stays the same
the games we lose we just keep playin’
the devil’s bargain’s on sale again
and I’m angry at the world, angry at the world
for what it’s worth, and I’m not sure
a cup of earth traded for a snake-oil cure
a dearth of love, a lust for more
like we’re angry at the world, angry at the world
the ones I love, the ones I shake
a few on purpose, most by mistake
push comes to shove, moves on to break
and I’m angry at the world, angry at the world
for what it’s worth, and I can’t say
a missing purpose dropped somewhere along the way
the potter’s hands reaching for a lump of clay
is he angry at the world? angry at the world
and what am I? a clump of dirt
same as the dust behind the curtains
the salt I was now stains my shirt,
and I’m angry at the world
for what it’s worth, and I can’t tell
a splash of water at the bottom of the wishing well
or the fists of heaven pounding at the gates of hell
where we’re angry at the world, angry at the world
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