Tell me how,
How can I
Know why,
Why it is
That people die.
It is a mystery
You see,
The reason for such misery.
So all I've got are piles of questions
Like so many unopened letters
That go against the engrained conventions
Drilled into my head by my so-called betters.
Questions.
Conventions.
Confusion.
Seclusion.
Doctrine.
And disillusion.
Fear,
Dispair
Over things that are unclear.
And wondering,
Always wondering
What the hell I'm doing here.
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