Who Goes There?

Lyrics
Who goes there? Hankering, gross, mystical, nude? How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat? What is a man anyhow? What am I? What are you? All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your own Else it were time lost listening to me I do not snivel that snivel the world over That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth That life is a stuck and a sell, and nothing remains at the end but threadbare crepe and tears Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids; conformity goes to the fourth-removed I cock my hat as I please inside or out Why should I pray? Why should I venerate and be ceremonious? Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counseled with doctors and calculated close I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barleycorn less And the good or bad I say of myself, I say of them I know I am solid and sound To me, the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow All, all are written to me, and I must get what the writing means
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Credits
- Writers
- Michael Tilson Thomas
- Walt Whitman