I’ve written my ode and, this time
I’ll keep in mind
The sun can never set if you don’t let it shine
in the first place
You said
You’ll tell me yours if I tell you mine
Alright
So you’ll sit and listen (for a while)
But will you stay long enough to hear
How about to commiserate?
How about to ridicule?
How long does it take till any of us can empathize
For who truly knows who knows what knows or knows me.
I might (I mite)
It’s doubtful though
You know me through song or none at all.
For my songs are cries the Sirens sounded
The last thing men heard fore their woes founded
we’ll sing a song and sing and sing your mind away.
And to this day, I’ll never know who truly heard me
It takes a lot, but none to truly hurt me
And here I lay, not knowing why
the grass was white, the wine was bland
but why the razor never sharp enough
Who used my razor, my Fuckin razor!
and blunted it out.
Who would care so much as to shave their legs
To prevent the one thing I told them, I said
I was useless to beg for, though they never
wasted so much as a minute
I guess That’s as deep as his empathy goes
And like I said who truly knows?
What I was to him; though never more
Did he love me?
No!
Pathetic whore
Who keeps crawling and crawling back to more
of his neglect, If there ever was so much
Fuck you!
I’m not not in the least bit sore enough
yet. So I’ll linger here for a moment longer. Though
I must admit, I wonder why
Though I’ve found no place to go, waiting till the day he dies
And I am a perfect example of unsightly
so I have to stop and ask myself
couldn’t he find a prettier casualty?