I wish I was a victim of circumstance
A belittled soul, slighted and wronged
Licking my wounds in the shadows
Waiting for the great puppeteers in the sky
To deftly strike at my wrongdoers
I wish I could beat my chest and wail out
While waiting for their comeuppance
To be delivered, as the stars were realigned
And the Milky Way repainted just for me
If only I had a chip on my shoulder from which
To launch all these delusions of grandeur
If only my vision was clouded enough
To overshadow these grimy fingers and
Shabby disposition, a result of the effort it takes
To fall backwards into a snug self-dug grave
Yes, if only I was a victim of circumstance.
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