Maybe some day I'll stop

Observing and processing,

'Cause the more it goes,

The more I'm beginning

To identify very precisely

How miserable it all makes

Me feel to have to deal

With any part of it at all.

I don't know how to pretend.

I just don't know the game,

And I don't care to know it either.

What's observed is often senseless,

And not all too very kind either,

So it makes me question why

Anyone would want to behave

In such useless or despicable ways.

Disappointing hardly covers it.