Could be bitter; what’s the point?
Each generation must anoint
its own legion of heroes to cut down.
Complaining they did not pick me
this time around seems to be
another way of sinking in the ground.
Between the cracks sometimes you fall;
you’re lucky to be seen at all.
So many live and die without a sound.
So what that no one knows my name,
that somehow I’ve eluded fame?
despite all that could be I’m still around.
What really matters, after all?
You get right up after you fall
without expecting some reward each time you do.
What really matters, in the end?
You find some truth, maybe a friend,
because the only thing left to become is you.
Could be bitter; what’s the use?
The world needs pointless self-abuse
like it needs one more song about the rain.
Insisting some conspiracy
must be to blame, and woe is me,
just sounds like an excuse for being lame.
Between the headlines that you read,
you find the news you really need
or else you don’t learn anything at all.
So what that no one sings my praise
then tires of it, in a few days?
The headlines make the other print so small.
What really matters, after all?
You get right up after you fall
without expecting some reward each time you do.
What really matters, in the end?
You find some truth, maybe a friend,
because the only thing left to become is you.
22 FEB 2007
