It’s not you, it’s me.
The tears you cry, the convulsions you take
When you sigh that deep sob.
It’s not your fault.
You sit there and you wonder where it went wrong
Nothing went wrong, you have the child’s gaze
As he shares his view with the peppered sky of the evening
bliss
And I sit here, wondering why.
I do what has to be done.
Fate is something you can’t control
I try to explain, and it never comes out the way I want
Because there is no way that makes sense.
Of the matter made and the seed that’s sought.
The dark surrounds us both.
And the pulsing throbs of the beat of a million drums
Marching into oblivion
Wondering why they came in the first place.
I cry for you, for them, for all of us to stop.
The forlorn cries of those less lucky forced to drop
Their extended lies of perplexity into mutilation.
Here’s the taste of the sallow pickled waste.
We all see the millions, but
The millions aren’t what we want to see.
