The Present

It’s always this year’s gift
Is it ever what I wanted?
Was I unhappy living in the past?
Has my growth been that stunted?
When to be ashamed is to be defined
And all this self awareness, the blind led by the blind
An empty conscience is sensitivity
I have to pretend I’m overcome with humility
It always comes on time
Not a second before the instant
But this year I think I’d rather be a relic
Than part of the present