Real teachers aren’t in classrooms,
And they’re sure as hell not preachers.
Their dogma matters not,
It’s in the way they live their lives, you see.
It’s in the in-between.
The in-between between the moments.
The empty spaces that they keep.
‘Cause the truth is in the pudding,
And fuck you ideology,
I care about results.
And your intentions are irrelevant,
it’s impacts I’m concerned about.
Not this bullshit ‘says “the ends’ll justify the means,”
Dammit, don’t you see,
The means are the ends: the ends are the means.
The journey is the destination,
So take your teachin’s from those teachers
Who walk a path of truth.
The ones who’s stories match their reality.
Scrutinize the impacts of every move you make,
And listen, listen, listen, for the lessons found within.
‘Cause I don’t want some far-off future,
I don’t want some stupid carrot,
dangling on a stick ‘n’ ever out of reach;
I’ll have my fucking cake,
And I’ll danm-well eat it, too.
I WANT FESTIVALS OF AWESOMENESS,
I’ll accept no substitute.