Saint Leonard touched a Philistine,
A sacred tongue, a perfect rhyme,
But even he was not much nourished,
By modern love.
So I told her that everything she does is divine,
And she replied with a blank expression,
An abject lesson in making me feel benign,
Then whispered, "Independence and indifference,
Are the wings which allow the heart to fly."
Feelings I have had too often,
Still no plan and place,
To soften the inevitable blow,
The rituals we know,
And with the right revolting piety of tone,
The word freedom,
Can make you want to lock yourself,
In a deep dark dungeon.
But everybody follows pleasure,
Everybody gets somewhere, I swear,
I wish I could be less aware.
Now it's absolutely clear to me,
That solitude is not the same as singularity,
But that's not why I'm lonely,
No, that's not why I'm lonely.
