Every day it’s the same thing.
“Listen,” you say, “to the birds singing.”
And every day I say back to you,
“What do I want to listen to the birds for?
“I could be doing something else,
“like the things I used to do
“when my life was full!”
“What,” you ask, “did you do before,
“but sit and complain that you had nothing to do?”
“Well,” I reply, “it was better
“than listening to the bloody birds!”

Every day it’s the same thing.
You think you’re right but you’re not.
I remember: stop telling me I don’t.
You’re unreasonable. And cruel.
I want to go back to where I was happy
not listening to the birds.

And don’t forget to visit.
I’ll be happy when
I can go back to being alone.
But don’t forget to visit.