I know my phone calls are not your concern,
You show your human mind seeking settlement,
That makes me to move on cyclic turning.
I am alone; I know my musing is unconvincing,
I need tools, familiar shelter to make favorite things,
You may not respond; it is changed symptom.
I know it is my wrong choice
My voice is not comfortable, hollow tune,
A rudely sized pattern you may not like.
I am not outsmart creation of mind,
I know hope is not here, or it is gone,
My literacy of web page creation lacks promotion.
I know I live in a decay of my age,
A human mind cannot feel the reality I suffer,
All are moving for money and career.
I know my search is an abandoned idea,
As my web page has no merit for friendship,
To meet long time wants on my feeling altogether.
I know I am moving with fade dreams,
My body does not sway with boost of glance,
A sad part that I partake in my affection.
I know my shelter or my phone calls are torments,
I forget to think simple way of living,
And I have to learn to say, “I am not mad of you.”