What you don’t get is that I don’t get it.

I don’t get those little things

that seem so apparent to others.

I don’t get all the games that people play.

All the games that people play

every night and every day.

Just a song that my father listened to.

Just a Petula Clark song.

I much rather listen to the rhythm

of the gentle bossa nova.

I much rather be dancing with it

before the night is o’va.

Downtown,

forget all my troubles,

forget all my cares,

happy again,

with all the games people play,

as only a catchy tune.

So the alien in me tunes into

television, movies, and reality tv

in a vain attempt to understand.

I still don’t get it.

I only get it on the screen,

never when it matters,

never when I am in it.

I am an alien, an innocent,

yet I seem so jaded,

My spirit fades with each trick,

my spirit earns for a treat,

a bit of relief,

a moment of bliss.

I just wish that I didn’t have to get it,

that there was nothing to get it.

That people could get what I see inside,

what I feel inside.

Understand all the beauty that exists inside,

how life could be if everyone would

follow their hearts, their bliss,

if everyone would be into “Me”.

Not a selfish view of “Me”.

A view of “Me” that understands.

Understands that doing what is best

for you is best for everyone.

Beyond the manipulation

of games and tiny wars,

and big wars,

Go inside and understand,

get it, really get it.

Be a child at heart,

childlike, not childish,

forget childish games,

remember childlike games.

Yeah, I guess it would make

reality television boring.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/brittanyg/1469611810/