Brilliance

Life contains many headaches
Like a stroll in the desert
Without a map
We’re forced to choose
The most pleasant path we can find
Towards oblivion
Don’t listen to what they say
Fifty thousand people
Are wrong every day
For a decaying piece of bread
Fifty thousand people
Will stomp on you, every day
Old socks come off
New socks come on
Old socks go to the washing machine
And then return to you, good as new
Until they reach disintegration
But I —
Have been shone upon
I’ve traded in my box of broken hearts
For a lifetime supply
Of air