Saviour of the Erroneous Power
I went to a high school,
I don't know anybody but me.
I was an outcast in school,
Nobody liked me not even me.
Holding on to the radiator,
The recess bell rang the Liberator.
And all the cool kids stood proud on the high stairs,
And everybody else is standing down below.
Hand fed fearful envious stares in their high chairs,
And everybody else is cursing down below.
There once was this kid named Tris,
He climbed the stairs with his fist.
Walked right up to the king pin,
And said "Hey man, your life is a sin.
We won't take this classism anymore."
His punch was the saviour of the erroneous power.
And he called down to his people down below.
Spoke of a democracy and a revolution.
The apocalypse of the popularity contest was owed.
One by one he extended his hand to the shunned ones.
The poor the gay the goth the nerd all were one.
In the following days, popularity was done.
I didn't have to hide down on the dirty floor.
He chained all those bastards in the pre-high to that dirty floor.