A sunlit roof, a busy road
The melancholy does forebode
For there is no companion here
To share my love, my hate, my fear.
I drink my drink, it tastes the same
The same way it did yesterday
I sit and sip, and feel no shame
And if I did, it’d go away
They know me here, and we converse
Sports and cars and news and work
Sometimes I think it’s just my curse
To drink this joe and go berserk
They pay me what they pay the rest
And once a month I pull the weeds
My brain inside is feeling stressed
But I fulfil their gard’ning needs
The people do not look my way
Though I would love to talk to them
I have met some, but they betray
I’m left alone, sad and condemned.
“The loco’s back” I hear pronounced
But they don’t think I understand
My whole existence is denounced
Before my eyes like it’s been planned.
So, I choose to write down every thought
The electronic page my friend
And this curse with which I’ve fought
At last has met its bitter end.
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