People have problems
and the problems have people.
We grow hope but it’s up the church steeple.
I want to talk about mine but no one listens
they are arguing and talking loudly missing
the point
all my words are disjointed
why should yours take preference let’s talk about mine
see mine are more pressing so let’s not whine about yours
for let’s face it you don’t want hear what’s bottled up in my daily dose of fears
you’ve all got your problems
can I turn into a sad little shadow
haunting a corner of a solitary room
there’s no room for me in your gloom
And tombs aren’t the sought of place
for the daily rat race
so shout the loudest
be proud of your problems
let me be an agony aunt
for you when it’s my turn you won’t or can’t…
listen…