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