What's the frequency, Angry Cliché?
Scorned old traditions, boring laws,
A rebel now; who needs a cause?
You've memorized your lines to say.

I wonder, will there ever be
A novel thought inside your head?
Your views are all from books you've read,
Your values all from on TV.

You love to share ideas with me,
And even more, to judge my own.
You love the new, the strange, unknown,
So long as it won't disagree.

You talk like you know all that's good,
And when I dare to call your bluff
You rave and sulk, and then hang up
Like last time, like I knew you would.

Your faults aren't yours, you rant to me,
When other groups can take the blame:
The church, the school; it's such a shame!
And you're a victim of society.
(Yes, a victim of society.)

You're predictable as a one-way street
And stiffer than a concrete block.
So why, through all your haughty talk,
Do you still mean so much to me?

But I don't know what I'm fighting for.
You know, above all else, you're free
To be anything you choose to be:
An angry cliché, and nothing more.

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