They say that beauty isn't only skin deep
That beneath the surface is what really counts
The bit still alive in the dark when we sleep
It's certainly important, by all accounts
But then why is presentation everything?
Why should it ever matter at all?
If all that truly matters is the presence you bring,
Then why on earth should we have to dress nice for a ball?
Now this is an annoyance of a personal type
One that I've struggled to attack after many a pursuit
It may be Oxonian blasphemy, but I've never believed the hype
That comes when you dress in a well-tailored suit.
It's impractical, can't you see?
It's only through society that it claims it's pride
It's with us throughout life, the bizarre formality
In birthday suits we're born, buried formal in suits when we've died.
If I ever go, it'll be how I lived, in something I'd naturally wear
But it's hard to escape, there's suits on everything you see
Even a banana in a tuxedo, I swear!
So let's end this, I plea.
I've never had the grandest of ambitions
But we'll never escape this suit-fixation unless
We work together to make this plan come to fruition
And formally end this madness.
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