The world is a locomotive,
In senseless rush and active fury rolling on.
Or rather like a mad steamroller
That flattens all in its determination.
And I so often feel devoted
To delicately doing things alone,
Without giving anyone a holler
or interfering with its loud creation.
And then they warn me that the world will crush me,
And then, ll just be holding empty bags
As people laughing move on to success
And reaping millions in stern aggressiveness
I say roll on the world- and don't try to rush me
With all your thugs and brats and steely hags.
Just let me clean my own little mess,
And from that mess create my own massiveness.
