We'll have Superman for President, let Robin save the day.
Snot is running down his nose, greasy fingers, smearing shabby clothes.
Roll us down the mountain and I'm sure the fatman would win.
You were bred for humanity and sold to society. One day you'll wake up in the present day, a million generations removed from the expectations of being who you really want to be.
Too many heroes stepping on too many toes, too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.
Everyone's saved, we're in the grave. See you there for afternoon tea.