Well, I’m just a misfit, a bug of media,
and I always idly surf the Wikipedia.
The lights of mayhem are slowly winking
while I quite silently sing an Ode to Thinking.
Modernists laugh at your way of thinking
and it matters not if your heart is sinking
Oh! where has Brecht gone, or Weber for that matter;
love and life are both great, but I’d prefer the latter
Ah how blue it’s to play the jack, how really dull
and all the while into foolishness we delve.
The path isn’t straight, the king has become a tool –
just like a ruler, only one used to draw a curve.
Jack is a Marxist, and there’s the Nazzi Jake,
See what a difference an E can really make!
Philosophies in showcases, ideologies everywhere;
and nobody can really tell the latter from the former.
And given all the choices that I’ve had to make,
there’s no one easy path that I’d wanna take.
But there’s still hope – ain’t there always? –
and I’ll put off choosing, for minutes, hours, and days.
You can choose to serve, or you can choose to rule;
And when all the paths so wildly swerve,
I don’t know if I can be anything less,
but I’ll just be a ruler who only wants to serve.
Do take a picture, and over it paint
a stricken heart, covered with a reddish taint
then carefully put the heart in the open chest
of a nightingale who has never left the nest.
This is no feint, and no truth either, but bring it anyway,
that pure madness with which all the world will sway.
I feel stretched in this lonely show, unstitched at the seams
and in this global zoo, I have left behind all the dreams.
I lay aside all my doubts, and clear my conscience,
and with a tired glance, I gather my nerve,
to ask the universe where it all went wrong, and maybe when?
But then I look around, and the questions … I shelve.