I am law to my self
A song without a tune
Travelling backwards up a one-way street
I am soup without the spoon
I believe in nothing
I don’t fly that higher plane
I’m often blamed for friction
As I rub against the grain
You know I’ll never listen
So why tell me what to do
You don’t like the look of me
And I’d hate to think like you
I’m like a fly in the ointment
A loose end trying to start
Maybe I’m the catalyst
To make it fall apart
You may think me dangerous
A piper to the abyss
I seek something tangible
Something more than this
What is now
Will forever be
Unless we make change
Find sweet anarchy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love this; my sort of poetry, a my-way-or-the-highway sort of thing. It's great.