The world is a gloomy wood Mapped by well-worn routes That justify our self-aggrandizing acts Of horrific exploitation
We want someone to tell us what to do We want time-tested, timeless rules To save us from the bitter taste Of figuring out what we can bear
If we know the questions in advance We won’t have to care about the “failures,” The ones we gaslight by saying That their natures cause their own oppression
We think we see through the everyday To the eternal order underneath — It just so happens to affirm our place At the top of the hierarchy
Well, this year, what I want more than anything Is to close my ears to justifications And to just be what I am: Lost in the wood, where you are too.