I’m not me anymore. I got busy, busy being born.
If you pass this way again. I’ll be in the cloud or on the floor. Nothing now feels worth it. It’s all approximately worthless.
I pass my days in a listless haze. I’m never whole, I’m always torn.

The canned chorus of senselessness. The callousness makes me wince.
I stop what I’m doing and just listen, in a frozen stupor at the stupid door.
We all need some grounding in something boring or astounding.
But every now and then, it’s good to get shaken to the core.
I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me anymore.

When you conjure up the shame, it feels like a farce or a game.
But I hear the chilling echo in the neglected annals of yore.
Who am I to presume? Didn’t we both jump over the broom.
In the din, my shout’s a whimper. In the silence, a roar.

It’s neither here nor there. How quaint that you still care.
All the best laid plans, you never know what’s in store.
When all you’ve known has crumbled, and even heads of state are humbled
All seem powerless to direct where the biggest burden is borne
I’m not you, him, her or them. Hell, I’m not even me anymore.

In the captive mind of pettiness. In resentment spawned from thoughtlessness.
I mutter gloomily: "I fucking guess". Like Winnie-the-Pooh’s friend, Eeyore.
In the grand prison of self-righteousness, echoes boom; nothing’s confessed
Like that donkey, I get depressed. Being right can’t be it’s own reward.

Even all the wisdom of Solomon can’t get the dead dove to fly again
or persuade the zealot fundamentalistfrom unleashing misery and gore
Sometimes, it all feels hopeless when violence robs what’s precious.
The despair, I can only guess. I have the luxury to ignore.
I’m not you, him, her or them I’m not even me anymore.

Some people have an impressive, boundless gift of forgiveness
Others bury their hate inside, dig their heels in and brace for war.
A dash of agony is cathartic;Pampered self-pity pathetic
We all have a struggle; Whether on the front lines or in fucking bubble core

Sometimes, shit doesn’t work whether you’re decent or a jerk.
Us, we'll hammer out a plan. We’ll just make up our own lore.
I take no joy in another’s demise; a bird can’t haul its cage away if it’s gonna fly
If you find a quick high in what you despise, Learning shit will become a chore
I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me anymore.

Revolution can be tedious with spells of giddy deliriousness
and self-indulgent disobedience, serious, cheesy, and mysterious
I dumpster dive for ideas from the Dakotas to either Korea
I follow furthest conclusions from the Hague to fucking Bangalore

the narcissist dressed in a spiffy shirt; the swaggering amateur on high alert
politely debate, but the trolls go berserk when the warriors claim to be pure
I have a moral compass lodged near my hippocampus
I won’t just blurt out what it says crouched in the shrubs of metaphor
I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me, not me anymore.

You angrily to squeeze the balloon, displacing the agony and gloom
I squeak the air out slowly, drawing fake giggles and sarcastic snores
There’s tons of indignation from crude insults to high oration
I’m just a modest scribe, an obscure, rambling troubadour

I’m just a drop in the bucket, tossed in the ocean off Nantucket
I’m a single grain of sand, lost in the snaking, rambling shore
I’m so infinitesimally small. Go on, squint, you won’t see me at all
When my dust gets blown away, things’ll pretty much be - as before.
I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me anymore.