I know well enough,
How to play the game,
That I can blend in with the crowd.

I know what things
Should bring me shame
And which ought to make me proud.

I would be alert
-If not all the time,
For in the fog there’s much to miss.

And it’s only when
His eyes meet mine
That I fear the reaper’s kiss.

I can wear the face
I’m expected to,
And you’d never know it didn’t fit.

When I take it off,
As I’m apt to do,
I never quite know what to do with it.

It’s a social game,
As it’s always been.
It’s not the kind that you win or lose.

But the kind you play,
As light-hearted children,
Before you perceive any mountains to move.

I hear the talk,
“World’s getting meaner”.
And over decades, said over again.

But the grass has never
Really been any greener,
I think the shade was just different back then.