The Wreck of the RIT Campus

(Sung to the tune of "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald")

The legend lives on from the 7th floor on down
of the big heap they call "Icky Pooey."
The heap, it is true, won't appeal to you,
but our president wasn't so choosy.
The heap isn't small--over 70 feet tall--
there is no way in hell you can miss it.
With a coating of rust and a fresh bird-poop crust
it will spoil your next campus visit.

The heap is the pride of the president's eyes
it is nearly as good as the fieldhouse.
If it curdles your gut, better keep your mouth shut
'cause you might just get sent to the doghouse.
As the big junkheaps go it is bigger than most;
it is almost as tall as a steeple.
With its sharp stainless steel it appears quite surreal--
not attractive to ordinary people.

Did the artist just fake it, then beg us to take it?
We did without batting an eyelash.
In next spring's yearbook they will say that it looks
like the junk that's left after a plane crash.
One point two million bucks for a sculpture that sucks!
It's good money that won't be returning.
And zero percent of those bucks were well spent--
'cause it's sure not a symbol of learning.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes
when bad art turns the minutes to hours.
If I had my way I'd replace it today
with a garden of beautiful flowers.
I am really distraught: people actually thought
it would "soften the look of the campus."
If that was their take then they made a mistake:
it's as fuzzy and warm as a lamppost.

The legend lives on from the 7th floor on down
of the big heap they call "Icky Pooey."
The big heap, to me, is a pile of debris:
it is totally lacking in beauty.
So let's all go down and we'll try not to frown
at our new "gath'ring place" at Brick City.
If you ask for my view I will tell it to you:
It's obnoxious, repulsive and s****y.