Years ago, I walked a road,
littered by others' trash.
With heaps of junk,
that pile up,
Until they cannot be ignored.
I sang praises to the gods above,
yet still the others threw their trash.
The songs died before they heard them.
They were not affected, so I sang louder.
All the good that did,
few heard and fewer listened.
And instead,
I started hearing, or rather listening,
to the songs of others crossing my path.
Theirs' were not praises to the gods above:
theirs were praises to the human race:
the ones who littered my road.
Their songs were faster, and cooler, I thought,
so I started to sing along.
But the tune got stuck...
like a broken record I sung.
I found their songs were lies,
and still I sang with them.
So here I am, walking a road,
littered, but by my trash now, as well as others'.
My road is littered full.