It Bugs Us Little People

It bugs us little people That someone's something there. A swarm of envious thoughtlets Is buzzing through our hair. No peaceful sleep comes calling. Our old zip's gone away. And stuck in our own stagnation — We decide how they should live. Pointless purchases. Why do they need that junk? Like a hooker's envy Of colleagues in the "trade". Too bad they just don't hear the Quiet bass of "common" sense. Too bad that other people's ways Don't judge us quite like this.