Human faces seemingly melt into one
Common mass of tiresome redundancy
Assumed shallow uniqueness aside
This weary traveler stares down quotidian eyes
Nary a soul surprises this ol'
Trudging curmudgeon sans permanent home
Many a den probed and slipped in
To enter one is to taste of all men
Jointly reviled though distant by miles
These bipedal rats still elicit a smile
Don the misanthropic lorgnette
Staining rose-colored humanistic sight
At the time of this writing
Who knows where I will be?
The hell of other people spurs
My inveterate wandering
If alienation is a phase
Here's one to last me to the grave
I cast off their surface repose
Mine lies inside wherever I may roam
To shed all trace of purgatorial comfort
Must perplex the breed indeed
Swift dip; ousted; always on merry way
Ventured into desirable wilds
Coppice of old, the millpond so cold
Case for traversing perennial road
Its natural song quelling the throng
Keeps your humble author moving along
Just a black-clad vagabond
Taking a stroll in the dark dead of night
On a pilgrimage of sorts for yours truly
At the time of this writing
Who knows where I will be?
The hell of other people spurs
My inveterate wandering
If alienation is a phase
Here's one to last me to the grave
I cast off their surface repose
Mine lies inside wherever I may roam
Not of this race or world
At the time of this writing
Who knows where I will be?
The hell of other people spurs
My inveterate wandering
If alienation is a phase
Here's one to last me to the grave
I cast off their surface repose
Mine lies inside wherever I may roam