When your seasoning salt comes back in season, you're 
going to decorate your plate with that. I hear the 
impatience in your voice now and I wonder why you ever 
dried your socks on my doormat. I look the same, you look 
the same; I taste too dry, you need some salt. To 
clarify, I am not blaming you for the things that are not 
my fault  I admit I am boring, as dull as dust in a 
toolshed, but I don't think your shaker holds quite spice 
enough... I'll raise my hand and hold it up there despite 
the fact that my mind is blank. I'll try to fit your 
circle in with my square, but I know for sure you'll be 
pulling rank someday soon. Maybe I'm blind; maybe I'm too 
dramatic; maybe I'm half-dead, unaware; maybe I'm bored 
and sick of caring that you're looking for someone with a 
bit more flair. It's good that I understand I am no one 
the crowd wants to raise like a loaf of bread, like a 
toasting glass up to the light  cause I've already seen I 
am boring, as dull as dust in the corner, and I don't 
think your shaker holds quite spice enough to make this 
evening palatable.