I just don’t care to care, because the days
Blend all together so I can’t pretend
To know where one begins—I’d almost say
That there is no beginning, there’s no end
To all the meaningless display; the rush
To run about in madness; once a day
To stop and sleep, and never rest; the crush
Of endless months and years… I beg, I pray
To know, what IS the point? Why do we spend
Our whole lives running, purposeless? And where…
Where is the finish line? Where is the end?
When can I stop this masquerade, and care
About the life I’m never living? Sure-
Ly, surely, there is something? Something more?