Control Blues Poem by Keith Dovoric

I have so much control, I don't know what to do
I have so much control, I don't know what to do
If I get any more control, I think I'm through

The power to have control is a terrible thing
You can tear a delicate bird apart at the wings
And what if you happen to choose the wrong song to sing?

You have control over things both big and small
The lives of your children, the pictures on your wall
You can be a poor son to the mother you never call

I didn't know that I had control over this
The shape of my waistline, even the way that I kiss
Back when I had no control, ignorance was bliss

I can see why God is so mad and unsure
I'd be crazy too with all that to endure
For every disease, why I'll bet He's got the cure

I could be a good man, but it's so goddamn hard
Slave over wages and rake all the leaves in the yard
Control all the little habits I need to discard

All you control fiends, listen unto what I say
And be grateful your life is a series of meaningless days:
Ain't nothing sweeter than slipping back into the haze

So I don't believe in chaos or entropy
I think that we orchestrate what we want us to be
The puller of strings knows the curse of the truly free
The puller of strings -- that's the curse of the truly free.