Back to the days when it was all for me.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
Past looking through rose coloured glasses,
Instead mine glasses are orange, the wrong colour I fear,
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
Past looking at what pleases,
Instead of what is pleasing,
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
When all my love was for me,
Instead of it shared with those ignoble, wasted.
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
When i say two by two making four, or twenty something at best the mid forties.
Instead of multiplying my two with one and end up short changed.
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
Beware for i stalk and skulk.
Instead of court and be courtied, held in high regard for what I truly is.
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
Not hiding the dark and sinister, fiendish, not quite above reproach.
Instead of being bedecked of an adorning pelt of sheep’s clothing bereft of furnishings.
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
When i professed dignity nonpareil.
Instead of laying it out under the nearest to be trodden upon.
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
I am now intent on weeding out mediocrity in those that i hobnob with, worse, of self.
Instead of accepting of such as i may not be amenable of; confederate.
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
On bother of sanction of termination, not literal of course, or perhaps.
Instead strive for loftier reaches. Unreachable for the ordinary, only extraordinary.
Not that it matters.
Back to the days when it was all for me.
Looking out for number one.
When in hegemony, yoked fastly as with an envelope to stamp, well ingratiated,
Instead remain stuck unmangled, veritable verity and implacable since there is nary a need to dispatch from whence i am, for its comforts abound beyond measure, and are true.
Not that it matters.
| Pass me over ^ Anthony Hamilton |
