Who are you? Who, who, who, who?
Who d’you wanna be, and who has been that – anywhere?
Too many people take second best
Second best is the worst outcome
except for all the rest.
What d’you seek…
Faultless, transcendent, mysterious maternal mayhem?
What impossible dream do you demand from others and hate
most in yourself for its absence?
All that purity and posturing –
It’s just a spring clean for the May queen
Where do you go to my unlovely…
When you’re alone in your head
Nirvana? Valhalla? Heaven? Olympus?
Or is Shangri La really just some third-rate motel
Where the neon god they made blinds you through the cheap curtains all night long?
When will you get there?
To everything turn, turn, turn, but don’t lose momentum
There’s only a season for some purposes under heaven
And time for even fewer
Why don’t you come to your senses?
Oh, you’re a hard one, rejecting the perfectly fine in favour of
Capricious, commanded perfection
Dreamt up by those who require rejection
But actually need rejecting
Their feckless, fading facades
Fawning over you, false and faithless
Aren’t you tired of trying to fill that void?
How will you find that which was
stolen before it could grow?
Put him down, that fake figure of faultlessness
Just kill the man
Pull your trigger and he’s dead – both he and the lie:
“For all have sinned…”