Why is that we live day to day
and stop to question, stop again
Why can we just not say
that we are in so much pain -
oftentimes.

  
And this dissenting croak
that is our inner voice
What rule is it we broke
When we didn't have the choice -
oftentimes.

 

We cut it to shreds, that voice within
(and with precise surgery too)
Down with notions of virtue and sin
And steadily the silence grew
knives to sear our lives apart.
So cut out from jarring sound,
The featureless landscape around -
The meaning's lost, it feels insane
Till we realize with a start -
That we are all, but only humane;
That we all have a heart -
that we are all but humane
oftentimes.