Why read a book?
Someone’s ideas. Somebody made up everything,
may as well make up my own.
I guess I’ve gotten used to this, I gotta get on the road.
Three more days and I’ll be moving mountains.
Taught myself, why it’s different.
Taught or given, gifts get thrifted.
I don’t believe there are lessons for this,
not until I’m through, and look back.
Maybe I’d write it down,
how to avoid the most bizarre stuff around.
Don’t think they’d believe it.
Nobody’d believe it.
How is it so different?
Half myself, what is that?
Am I the ball? Am I the bat?
In control from different directions.
I sail, I come and I go, bare with me.
Gets windy.
Why read a book?
Somebody made up everything.
Figure it out as I go,
what other way to know for certain that I know?
this is your life chuck johnson 