Pessoa

Seventy mes with their pen-names
In an age of barbarians
My name is multiplicity, disquietude, indeterminacy
Life is drama, life is verse, life is written in the universe
Live for now, don’t rehearse, seventy mes fit one hearse
My name is multiplicity, disquietude, indeterminacy
A maelstrom in a vacuum, walking stiff
Through the geometry of the abyss
Ferdinand Pessoa put it cleverly
When he said we have seventy mes
Seventy mes with their pen-names
In an age of barbarians
The past is all I failed to be
The future all I’ve yet to be
Sick of having just one me
I created seventy
Seventy mes from the same egg hatched
Siamese twins unattached
Souls impatient with their limits
Each one trying to be what it isn’t
The meaning of my life has been to dream
To casually observe what I think I mean
To fill my hands with that sand called gold
Open my fingers and out it rolls
I am happy to be no-one
The outskirts of a nonexistent town
The margins of a withering page
The prologue to an unwritten age
If what happens to me happens to you
Then to tell you tells you nothing new
But if what happens to me happens only to me
Nothing I can say will ever make you see
The past is all I failed to be
The future all I’ve yet to be
Sick of having just one me
I created seventy
By woodside grove and woodland rushes
There’s hush and crush in the brush and bushes
On left the holt, on right the meadow
O hey, it rings and sings in sunshine and shadow
Seventy mes with their pen-names
In an age of barbarians
My name is multiplicity, disquietude, indeterminacy
Life is drama, life is verse, life is written in the universe
Live for now, don’t rehearse, seventy mes fit one hearse
The past is all I failed to be
The future all I’ve yet to be
Sick of having just one me
I created seventy