I’m going to get it out,
some way or another.
Spit, yell, scream,
sing, spin this stuff
around. You want me to do this?
I’m walking in fog.
I’m not blind, but I can’t see.
I don’t know what you want of me.
I keep asking, all sorts of ways.
Run, jog, walk,
yell again. Cry.
God, the crying.
I cry my heart out
and still, I’m left with no. No,
you can’t do it.
I don’t want to hear it anymore.
The birds are chirping
and I’m not even listening.
I’m too worried about everything else.
But the birds do sound pretty though.