I don’t want to be fed to a machine
I don’t want the wrinkles ironed out
I don’t want the smudges laundered clean

I don’t want to tumble at someone’s command
I don’t want to be somebody’s doll
dressed up and blinking on demand

I want my flaws to read like braille
I want to be proud when I succeed and even prouder when I fail
I’ll be holy, I’ll be obscene
But I’ll never be bottled and retold by some machine

I don’t want the money to be my king
I don’t want to bow down at his throne
I don’t want to question why I sing

I don’t want the pretense to pass for art
I don’t want to dress it up or hide it
when something’s broken my heart

I want my flaws to read like braille
I want to be proud when I succeed and even prouder when I fail
I’ll be holy, I’ll be obscene
But I’ll never be bottled and retold by some machine

and this is why I’m not impressed by the things that you adore
this is why my radio’s in pieces on the floor
this is why I hesitate at an open door

I don’t want to be fed to a machine
I don’t want the smudges laundered clean
I don’t want the money to be my king
I’ll never be bottled and retold by some machine