I can't get the sun to rise,
I know, but it doesn't.
Because the same man sits in the same chair
And surmises that he's wise.

We are all enveloped by ignorance
Gilded with everlasting omniscience
So you know I'm the eternal poet-softie
Whom the reader knows is stronger and smarter than he seems, the defendant Valjean if you please

Police officers stand with their hands at their belts,
Proud and wrong.

Lawyers bob and weave through crowds,
Like sketchy guys at parties,
Making chemical connections.

Vendettas are had and crime is clad
In the full disguise of law

And the arrogant judge holds his holy opinion
high as hell

So my head hangs low and alone
It makes my blueish mind wander
Into fantasy worlds of others shouldering the weight
And our backs are at right angles to each other
In the fourth dimension, let it be.

And yet it seems we're one being suffering together for no reason at all,
(And I can hardly say I'm suffering,
But it is a kind of suffering)
And in me the sun does not rise
It flounders about in neuropathy
Even ordered motion is flailing about
All is skewed and null is king,
My Mother even said so.