WHY, CRY I
I wonder if my disappointment will ever dissipate?
And will my sorrow suddenly end tomorrow?
Will my life create anything but hate?
And instead of lending will I be able to borrow?
Questions are legion in a region of few solutions
There is no one wise enough to help me out
No one with eloquent enough elocution
Only people to heap upon me further doubt
Will I ever will away the will to ask why?
And can there ever be a finale of fascination?
I wonder why I cry out to no longer cry,
when there is nothing more than further frustration?
So many questions for me to consider
While I while time away by escaping away
I suppose peace goes to the highest bidder
At least that’s what I wish wizened people would say
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