And in the end when you realise the dots you
connected were just dots of your
making, and so you were
wrong, and although the whirled is frigging wronger
it’s a fishy sort of plaice: the
people who live and love off it know how to
ignore the questions “why” and
“how”, and concentrate on “what’s in it for me”,
“let’s fuck us silly” and “stuff them
here and now“.
And I never did get me head around
and I never did manage to wear that
and I never did reach out to you in such a way
you wanted to reach out to me.
So the world is such a frigging place.
And it’s bigger than me.
And it’s stronger than me.
And I stand here vanquished:
wronging and wrong.
no longer wronged – that’s for
others to claim.
And so me song’s almost over:
there’s little more to say;
little more to do;
little more to like me for, you
provocative lot; just
seeing how tonto this little-
haired man might get.
And all thoughts of a better life disappear
and all thoughts of a wonderful
life remain unsaid and