E.E. Cummings
Folks have all kinds of opinions
And believe their opinions and beliefs to be sacrosanct
They would oftentimes have you be different
So that they’ll be able to fit you in their hip pocket
Massage you like a pet rock
While they walk-and-talk
Not currently digging your calypso conniptions
Never really knowing the real you that never was.
If you know the game is rigged and you continue to play
You shouldn’t expect legislators to come save the day
If you want to get the stalactites of peanut butter
From off the roof of your damn mouth
You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around.
These were the times of the man of wan complexion
Who tried to be three men plus the getaway driver
Whether or not he had the resolve
The arm-folding certainty wasn’t going to be enough
Statistics that don’t matter to those here gathered
We are no longer the slipperier nodes of greener times
The whole alphabet caught in a bear trap;
I was never your blue-eyed boy, Mr. Death.
If you let your thinking do your thinking for you
Don’t be surprised if good fortune chooses to ignore you
The voices you should be listening to
Are not going to sound a lot like friends to you
But either you take on the mass of that divided part
Or the open air may no longer be there
To saturate your hiccupping heart.
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