Like the contents of a cooler
My thorax is styrofoam

I'm a cheap spent shell
And a biohazard
Grind me up then mail me away

Maybe transmogrified
I'll be satisfied
That finally at long last i'm harmless

It is simply so
It's my chemical makeup
I slough it off every 28 days

So raise your hand
And ask yourself a question
But make it the powerful one

And if you answer by rote
And pap comes from your throat
Just tidy up and think of me in pieces

Yeah, the lousy poet in me can't lie no more
And the warrior in me
Has gone and died before
And that hard, handsome olympian
Was forced to retire

So dig out the films
And all those yellowed clippings
Do them up then stash them for good

Then raise your hand
And ask yourself a question
But make it the powerful one