This silly shrill putting
Clothes on hangers in my
Head
Judging me, myself by
Conceptions I should have long
Since shot dead
Either way the formalities
Leave you wasting time on
Trivialities
And my needs I cannot touch
I cannot grasp what sustains me much
It's like living up to someone's
Voice and the
Echoes linger still
That get mistranslated as the
Noise reverberates from the
Wall's of a well.
Such sounds I hear
And all this hot air
I'm just going to leave them there
To burn the floor down.