And yet I'm sure that I speak anyway.
It's often words I do not quite believe
Or that some social script suggests to me;
The way you speak to those who need to grieve,
Or those who wish impossibility;
How you converse with people you don't know
And have no urge or need to meet again
But whose approval you still need, and so
You have to be polite to them, just then.
All sorts of conversations must exist
To make this world keep spinning round and round.
I have to have them. I'll just make a list,
And hope to get through each one safe and sound.
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