(no subject)
First she asked everybody and all just to leave her be,
Ah, laissez-moi tranquille, Lasst mich endlich doch alle in Ruhe.
When they did she was happy but only a little bit
Worried if she won’t finally somehow begin to rue it.
She was perfectly happy to be on her own all day,
Reading up on the vices of man and the sense of being,
And she thought of her solitude as of the perfect way
To be spending one’s life never having to show one’s feelings.
When she finally noticed she’d already read too much
About life and its meaning, or, rather, the absence of meaning,
She took out and she burned every book she had ever touched-
‘Always thought that those shelves really needed a bit of cleaning.’
Then she found out she still needed words to compose her thoughts
So she talked and she talked to herself never stopping for hours
And she’d spend days on end thinking, frowning and taking notes
So that she might remember what she had to think about.
When she started suspecting the world did without her quite well,
And she couldn’t imbibe that, in spite of her every endeavour,
She went straight up to heaven’s door and she rang the bell
And when they didn’t open she just disappeared forever.