Alone in between the right and the wrongs,
Left, alone in this place of darkness and stone,
Below, I belong with the other things left undone,
Unravelled ingenuity becomes,
Anonymous animosity,
Misogynous monstrosity,
Disingenuous duopoly,
Synonymous, settling finally, with simple simplicity,
Not original nor profound,
There’s already been every sound,
Footprints on supposed unhallowed ground,
And yet we still dig down,
Down, down into the depths to find,
The simple thing that is only mine,
Simple thing,
Simple things are not what they seem,
Easy to say, but hard to mean,
Simple things are only so in dreams,
And probably already passim,
It is really nothing, in fact dead,
Everything worth saying has already been said,
And repeated again and again,
And again we try to abstain,
Refrain from replacing by accident,
Disdain and heckler’s haughty contempt,
You were there,
You were where I did not dare,
Unprepared for the lies and despair,
Unaware of the incompatible compared,
The undemanding and the complicated,
Down in the dark I stand illuminated,
Concentrated, concentrated and fully fabricated,
Automated someone manufactured whilst isolated,
Looking for the simple thing to make it all make sense,
Become alone and lost in a fog of thoughts too dense,
Why do you never drive me far?
Because you’re really not my friends,
So do I either throw caution out the car?
Or do I drive you round the bend?