You know after all this; the constant pressure to succeed or fail, the pressure to fake a smile or a frown, the pressure to find one or another, or the constant looks from the street judges, there I am (moi). Standing there or maybe walking with my back turned, I look strange just walking, fighting my through another man’s time. I know that’s contemporary life; “you work to live,” but where is my own time?
The elites might know, I mean I toil for them everyday. They should know something, right?
Where am I in this ‘scatta’ ‘scatta’ mess?
Have you seen me lately?
I think I’m lost, missing in action
So is my voice lost in this strictly commercialized noise?
Oh well there it goes again, echoing away my soul
I can’t hear it, even if I lean further, it has gone too far, or am I too far away?
After all this motion and more motion
Where am I?
Where is my voice?
I think I might have to shout much more louder to get it back. Reach for the stars, they say!