Being me I travel the world, uncluttered I see the smallest expression,
Very few are real … Some pretentious … Some in tune to match with others,
Some live in fantasy and some don’t simply care.
Being me I ask myself, “Why do I see so clearly through a cluttered mind?”
The cluttered mind pretend to be happy, they swallow the unreal without a thought.
Being me I ask myself, “Why am I not among them? … For it is very easy to lie in clutter.