Sunday, September 04, 2005
The way you walk,
Talk about how you talk,
Take a little trickle
Don’t believe your public,
They’re so fickle
They know you believe the statistics
And the words of those mystics
Who sold you the cheapest lies.
“To keep me real!” you said, surprised.
They let you break down,
They want to see you breakdown,
Is that one word or two?
Do you know what you ought to do?
I couldn’t believe you’re in this pickle,
I felt nauseous and a little sickle.
I thought of how you look
I counted up the time you took
To tell me the truth about myself
To review a reflection of someone else.
All this beggars belief,
(To use the language of a politician)
Before you take me in,
So bleak and yet so cool
So wild and yet so calm
I can’t detect that sense of alarm,
You give out,
When I give in.