Sometimes I'm a poet But most often I'm an ordinary forger, Torturing words To fulfill my sadist desires, Watching them cry out loud Meaningless combinations Purposely vague to seem intelligent.
I never played around To see what could I do. What could I've done? What would I've done? Would I change the world, Be a tyrant advocate Of reason, of equality, of mercy? Would I at least understand Why I keep my bed Always facing the (shut) door? Or I would be the same as I am Running over and over For something different That never meant to be, And find myself From time to time wandering What could I've done? What would I've done?
We are shy to show The little tiny mess we're made of, Like a thief, We hide what reveals us.
The orange night sky Says more about my city Than the heaven above it.