We all will go;
down a narrow terminal which marries the
so many million pursuits diverging,
and the one common end.

Precise and glad;
that shy abrasion as I graze my resolution.
Approaching eagerly and just missed it.

I esteem my longing only in so far as I can get a hold of its matter, anyway.
So that i'm perpetually dispossessed and still elated.  

What's the matter with me mama?

Why is it only me who can hear the
bawling shriek of a finishing orchestra?

I am harboring a million desires
that I haven't the means to acquire
and so they dissipate.

But, excuse me,
I have got to concentrate

on the song I heard while dreaming
before I forget it.

The one million pursuits sing that;
I am being deprived of a thing I have a right to.

Oh, forget it.