I'm unworthy, and no matter what I'm doing
I should certainly be doing something else
And it's selfish to be thinking I'm unworthy
All this me, me, me, me, self, self, self, self, self.

If I'm talking on the phone I should be working on the lawn
Which looks disgraceful from the things I haven't done
If I'm working on the lawn I should be concentrating on
Those magazines inside, since I have not read one.


I should learn how to meditate and sew and bake
And dance and paint and sail and make gazpacho
I should turn my attention to repairing
All those forty year old socks there in that bureau.

I should let someone teach me to run Windows
And learn French that I can read and write and speak
I should get life in prison for how I treated my parents
From third grade until last week.

I should spend more time playing with my dog
And much less money on this needless junk I buy
I should send correspondence back to everyone
Who's written, phoned or faxed since junior high.

I should sit with a therapist until I understand
The way I felt back in my mom
I should quit smoking, drinking, eating, thinking
Sleeping, watching TV, writing stupid songs.

I should be less impatient when the line just takes forever
'Cause the two cashiers are talking
I should see what it's like to get up really early rain or shine
And spend three hours walking.

I should know CPR and deep massage and Braille
And sign language and how to change my oil
I should go where the situation's desperate
And build and paint and trudge and tote and toil.

I should chant in impossible positions
Till my legs appear to not have any bones
I should rant at the cops and politicians
And the corporations-in indignant tones.

I should save lots of money to leave Audubon
Plus all the rocks and animals and plants
I should brave possibilities for plotting plums of problems
Prob'ly blossomed, plausibly from
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah I'm unworthy...