I’ve lived for the feelings of others,
That’s a listening of sorts,
What have I learned? That self
Is bitumen, black as tar,
Oh, how slowly we flow, oh
How slowly we flow, we crack with age.
I’ve lived for the feelings of others,
A philosophy of sorts. I’ve heard
Self give up its final word,
Coughs and whispers in
Hospitals and nursing homes.
Oh, how slowly we flow, oh.