I'm just a young man with a sun tan, sauntering around like I've got it all figured out. The answers to life's endless enigmas cascade from my newly made, stainless steel spout. But this false prophet faucet has never known drought. I doubt the answers will flow so freely when your steely interior becomes rusted from use, and your forsaken inquisitors yell from parched mouths, "we trusted in you!" Do you want the truth? I'm more like a sprinkler, never sure which is the right way to go. But maybe one day I will find a particularly lovely flower and cease this ostensible oscillation.