it’s not me

I was always put on the front line

asked to dance to the music unknown

while others shaded, I acted broken

what do you expect from me to avoid this nonsense?

you will smooth everything over

cover with sweet words, apologise

while I’m fed up

with this ludicrous lack of guts

when all my language and empathy skills

they are worthless, busted, eighty-sixed

I can’t do anything about it

unless I stay away

where no one can look at me and recoil

saying a bad word that I

did something wrong

when in fact

all I’ve ever tried to do

was to protect your dirty butt and act

in this deranged theatre as if nothing had happened

but it did and nothing

will ever bring me back my health, so Auf Wiedersehen