I paid ten dollars for the latest New Yorker
Just 'cause I'm desperate to think like a man
Turns out, the end of the world's 'round the corner
Huh, but I could've told you that

On every page, somebody's rage simmers
Somebody's dick shivers, isn't it cool
To own all paper when you can't do fuck all with it?
Oh, but don't you look hot while you do it, you fool

The devil's himself's re-elected, and Preston's got fancy
I sort of miss the old grit of the road
American marriage is some kind of plagiarism
And the text on Africa's rubbed old

On every page, somebody's hate glimmers
Somebody's dick shivers, isn't it cruel
To own all paper when you can't do fuck all with it?
Oh, but don't you look hot while you do it, you fool

If I was to sum up the facts that I've learned
It's that people would rather look good than name genocide bad
And everyone's fathers are getting Alzheimers
And PhD students are increasingly sad
And guilt is the latest pandemic
And big corporations are stealing good work from the cabs
And mothers are back in the office after only two weeks
But it's okay now they're making breastmilk in a lab
And treaties have not been respected
Your joy is being censored and histories replaced by an ad
And people are losing the rights to their bodies
And the front line position on love is it's bad
But on page sixty-one, there's this bit by Bill Collins
Who says how he's grateful to live in this world
This planet now barely able to spin
And still, he'd rather eat shrimp with his girl

And so I'll try to love you here at my table
Good news, big world