Sitting here resting my bones
Fanning my affliction
Wishing I had a few clones
To act as stand ins
But here at the hermitage
I am privileged
With solitude
And self-cooked food
And crying time
And quirks of mind
Chesnutt’s chewing his nails
The Zen of self-mutilation
Forgetting all that life entails
Sinking in a silly stagnation
But here at the hermitage
I am privileged
With solitude
And self-cooked food
And crying time
And quirks of mind