Here’s a song. Imagine singing it to music written in 10/4. Better yet, just read it:
I Keep Bumping Into Myself
I
keep
bumping
into myself
I
keep
bumping
into myself in the dark
–
Gotta push me out of the way
Or I’ll never turn on the light
Never escape the night
Can’t get anything right
I keep bumping into myself
Into myself in the dark
Into myself in the dark
Nothing but death, nothing but death
No air to breath, no light to see
I did it to me
—
In the bottom of my mug
There lives a earthy slug
It’s world is nice and round
Everything’s easy its found
I think I am that slug
No reason to leave my mug
The walls are made of my flesh
My flesh is made of my thought
My thought is made of porcelain
My soul is is starting to rot.
—
In the morning
I start to dream
I start to fight and run
In the evening I go to sleep
but my dreams are done
—
I only think I’m depressed when I read my own poetry. Jeesh! Here’s something a bit more uplifting: