Life Goes On

On a particularly bad day, the kind of day that is sick of meaning things,
Another memorably unmemorable day, the kind of day that is just a day,
I begin to think, with a hazy sense that I've been meaning to,
I begin to think, as though suddenly remembering to think,
I begin to think, I'm like an old man with a pain
In a place he's half-forgotten, one who feels
As it all comes back to him, that he's been meaning
To be in pain.
On a particularly bad day, I've been meaning to be in pain.
I feel like someone on a bus, who suddenly feels he's on a bus.
And if I don't think much, nothing more than a thought of failure,
A hazy sense of the loss of trust, which after all, was only trust,
I feel the weight of the weightless dream, of the endless faith
That simply ended when I failed her, and the power of so much hope,
Which was everything, and something, and was only so much hope.
On a particularly bad day, there was only so much hope.
All that we had is simply lost, and now I'm hoping to feel the loss.
And if I won't feel much, nothing more than another feeling,
A hazy sense of something less, which after all, just feels like less,
I'll see that a violence is done again, to all that it means
To go on living, I'll make quite sure that as life goes by
It will never mean more than that life goes on.
On a particularly bad day, something less than life goes on.
If the bus that I'm on should stop, I would sit on a bus that's stopped.
On this particular day, the kind of day that does not mean anything,
Another pointedly pointless day, the kind of day that just lasts all day,
All that we had is lost, and nothing I think
Could begin to think this, a thought that I'll grasp
As life goes by, saying everything,
And something, and meaning
Only that life goes by.