Skeptical

 

 

I’m not amused, it’s true.

I have no muse, it’s true.

I can never refuse, no not you. 

So if it is true, then who to?

To whom do I run, if I run?

From you. 

 

Reassure me my worth, please do.

I’ll hang and I’ll hurt, without you.

Down in my blues, it’s true.

My home’s in a hearse, it’s true. 

So if it is true, then to who?

To whom do I vent, if not you?

And life is a trip, who knew.

But God, where do you work, I’ll move.

Can’t help to find, no truth.

 

 

Down in the dirt, I’ll be.

Nowhere no one, can find me.

So if it is true, where to?

To whom do I plead, unto?

Do I wait until birth, or untrue?

Where do I turn, oh where to?

Oh God does it burn, it’s true.

I no longer have worth, it’s true. 

I work for the dirt, it’s true. 

Now I return to Earth, reverse. 

 

 

So if I’m gone, where to?

And if you are gone, then who? 

Do I share all my love, if not, with you? 

Hell below and heaven above, is it true? 

Is my worth enough, for you? 

 

 

Is it true love?

Or is it true fear? 

Tell me, are you truly here?

 

 

 

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