Sometimes I feel like,
I’m on a tour through life,
And I may have picked,
The wrong location,
For I am not happy,
No, I am not happy.

The tour guide,
He goes on and on,
But the veneer,
Of these gilded halls,
Just feels empty.
No, I am not happy.

I can’t help but imagine
What it would be like
To see the Louvre,
Or perhaps the Hermitage.
But instead I get my museum,
A dull empty place
I am not happy.

But I am told I must be,
So here we are.
My museum may be dull,
And empty,
But it is mine,
I must be happy.