The Jesters

I'm walking, thinking by myself, something I often do,
When I meet someone who will listen to my ravings.
I tell this one I don't know how I'll make it through
Today and then tomorrow. "Is this life worth saving?" I ask.
But I keep right on talking, not wanting the reply.
I tell this one all about my problems and my pains.
They're many, non-specific things that stick inside my mind,
But I try to make my new friend understand, try to explain.

I will survive these indifferent glances,
I'm not sure what they're thinking,
If they think at all.
I will revive from these walking trances,
I'm not sure why I think so much,
Perhaps I'll let my mind just fall away.

I say, "On this street, people pass before my eyes,
I see them all, yet I don't believe that they notice me.
I can surmise
That I'll see them all again or something else that looks the same. Why don't we
Walk on a ways. Walk away.
Find another scene to watch, another pretty play
Where the actors make believe they care. Is it true?
It doesn't really matter as long as I believe they do."

Someday this will all make perfect sense to me again.
I don't know when, but I can't wait much longer.
I wish I understood what good can come of my confusion,
These illusions which plague me night and day.

Climb up the stairs, crawl into bed,
A thousand cares, seven months of dread. I don't know
Where I go now.
I think that I'll just lie here, pull the sheets over my head.
"I don't know why
You've listened all this time to me while others just pass on.
Will you stay with me now, listen to my tribulations?"
But when I turn around, there's no one there, just my imagination.

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