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Who said "to thine own self be true?"
Oh right, the guy who got ran through
And who decreed that all unclean get thrown in a ditch outside town?
Oh right, that was God

Let me tell you how to make it in the world today
And by 'I,' I mean "Simplis Pueris Mentalis Doktor"
Mentalis simplis pueris eye

For the sky that is over you is brass
And the ground that you tread upon is iron
From what I say you can deduct the truth
And the rest can be thrown in the squelch chamber

Too many jewels
Not enough of fingers
Left all the poets and malingerers inside, inside, inside

To gain financial
One must be a hollowed out instrument
An original instrument of God

I say yes to no and maybe
Waste can be wine, waste can be wine
And what is lost is of no consequence
A real rich-dad, poor-dad kinda deal

Famously nervous spectral duping
Is the enemy of profit and its disciples
I'll tell you all about aposiopesis, if, if --

Too many jewels
And not enough of fingers

They are the fallow and they are disassemblers inside, bug-eyed, inside, inside
I do all my shady business at Zeidman's and that's how I get ahead
Every road crooked must be made straight
Every mountain must be made flat

And I know if I die in a field and inside
And I know inside, inside, bug-eyed, bug-eyed!

Too many jewels
Not enough fingers

Well I hope you all maintain sales, sales
Inside, inside, inside, bug-eyed
You all eat ash
You all eat ash

To know me
Is to love me

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