Why should I care about your feelings

You had no problem hurting mine

Why should I bandage your wounds

You had no problem causing mine

I wonder if that's what He thought

Hanging there on a big stick

I'm so glad He did care

Even though

I must admit

I don't always return the favor

In fact I've never even come close

And if I weren't so fickle I'd make that my life ambition

And doesn't that sound noble?

But since I'd rather sit on the fence than in the pasture

Or in the gravel

I'll ignore the splinters in my posterior end

There are nineteen on last count, by the way

And I'll ignore the utopia to my right

And the wasteland to my left