All my problems are patrician. They've
monocled faces.
It's no more than right they'd
contradict themselves in places.
I want time to learn, to write, and to
teach,
To practice my practice and convert,
but not preach.
I want to know how to get her to tarry.
I want to make sure to never get
married,
To figure out how to pass these five
minutes here,
To figure out how to ride out the rest
of two years,
Nevertheless, I find worry bizarre.
The toils and troubles will be what
they are,
Regardless of whether or not I
feel...anything.
I'm not sure if life is a puzzle or a
maze.
I know I can do it, but I don't know
how.
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