I'm quietly contemplative in all I do.
I keep myself to myself when around you.
I'm curious to hear what people say,
And the things I do give little away.
I'm want to sit in the middle seats
Of the upper deck as the young ones bleat
About this and that and stuff and shit -
I think they're indifferent a little bit.
I go to a cafe for a quiet bite
But the noise builds steadily up from slight.
And Borders books is a noisy squall.
The library is good but its stock is small.
I feel that shortness is my right.
Dark pervades and my day is night.
My smile is worn in between sneers
And my eyes conceal confused jeers.
I'm frustrated in every which way
But it adds a sparkle to my day.
I'm continually surprised at what I read
But my mind is rooted like a fallen tree.