Without Us

You don’t understand me, perhaps …

But you certainly don’t like me;

Because I’m mine and

Comfortable with the fact.

I recognise your token sympathy

For the false pity that it is.

But hold: there’s something

Far bigger happening.

We should spit on our palms,

Make some kind of a deal,

So step aside, hold out your hand

Or go for cover, because it

Can happen without us.