The Spiritual Descendant of the Cowboy Explains Himself

You ask me what's on my mind,
And I search for the best answer I can find.

Half the time, I'm thinking about football,
A subject in which you've no interest at all.
There's scarcely a time I don't think about sex.
You might give me ten minutes, then ask me what's next.

Sometimes my thoughts mean nothing; I often think of jokes.
If they're any good, I'll tell you, and we'll laugh until I choke.
These jokes pass right through, as on wings,
Rarely landing.  Why waste words on such meaningless things?

The rest of the time, or as much as I can hold,
I spend thinking about what's wrong with the world.
As there's so little I've figured, and less that I can do...
I wouldn't want to muddle such a sunny soul as you.

I suppose the simple message of this confounded rhyme
Is it's wrong for you to just assume I'm feeling all the time.
Though a man may ponder facts, or plot out sly persuasions.
He only does his feeling on the rarest of occasions.

The best answer becomes the one that puts an end to questions;
If you want to talk, I'll listen, but go easy on projection.