It's frustrating to know that
You're different to everybody,
and everyone thinks they know You.
We're all just curious brush strokes
and You hide Your secrets too well.
Why don't you give yourself some credit?
The Universe is quite a masterpiece,
better than some Lisa who
forgot to draw her eyebrows.
How can I talk to You,
when you're nothing to me
but a conscience?
But maybe I'm asking
for too much-
after all, I wouldn't turn left
if I know what's right,
and that's all the answers
I've ever asked for.
