Song of the Night

Here I am, only thirty-five,
Already I’ve lost all my drive,
Singing The Good Life with Weezer,
While doing my best to appease Her,

And with all my thoughts, with all introspection,
A relentlessly intricate self-brain dissection,
I have found that when my understanding gets deep,
Then I get confused, or just go to sleep.

When I think I’m original, insightful, and wise,
Then it all comes to me, and I realize
How strange, how alien, everyone is;
I don’t understand them, I don’t understand you,
I don’t understand you at all.

This predictable world is so crazy
One minute I think its dreadful dull
And the next, I’m looking out
From my mind’s prison-cell
Wondering whose shadows
Are on my cave wall,
And why I don’t know them,
Understand them at all.

When I think I’m original, insightful, and wise,
Then it all comes to me, and I realize
How strange, how alien, everything is;
I don’t understand it, I don’t understand it,
I don’t understand it at all.