sittin in my room
on a friday night
playin my guitar
don't care what they say i should like
bars, cars, people with no hearts
will not even give my song the waste
of the likeness of your face
gone so far from grace
in the madness of your ways

better i cannot be
than thee
'cause better is not for me
'cause for me?
better relies too heavily
on the meaning you choose so randomly
depending on the day and how you see
the good, the bad, and the ugly

am i right or am i right?
she laughs in their sight
as they admire
her intentional might
yet... so... far from... delight
as the thoughts of fright invade the mind
in kind
she responds
with despair

a time for reflection
on the meaning and traction
of her convictions, predilections
no time for fiction

sittin' at her desk
hoping to transcend the test
of time unbehest by the best
those walkers and the smoothest talkers
who think all her conclusions are manifest'
with what she says
with arms reserved for others
feeding me the indigest
and the fragments of themselves

that nobody else bothered to see