I don't believe in tomorrow,
with it's sameness and it's sadness,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in yesterday,
with it's longness and it's mockery,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the sunrise,
with it's promises and it's storm clouds,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the sunset,
with it's loveliness and it's loneliness,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the sea,
with it's indecision and it's vastness,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the universe,
with it's mystery and it's immensity,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in memories,
with their vagueness and their insistence,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in hope,
with it's randomness and it's deception,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in poetry,
in the lines of my face and of my hand,
in the stars and the gods,
in the guitar and my voice,
in my smile and my frown,
in love, in feelings,
in doors and pictures.

I don't believe in me. I don't,
but they all do. All of them.
And all of them expect answers
and reasons that I cannot give,
that I don't know. I don't know.