In the corner sits a girl,
Not attractive or popular.
Judged by her appearance,
No one dares to glance at her.
But I do.
Though she is lonely,
What is more important than my reputation?
After all,
It’s not my fault.
Approaching a boy hoping for conversation,
She is met by insults,
And turned away.
Should I help her?
Why would I?
After all,
It’s not my fault.
I know its wrong,
I should defend her.
But no one else is.
After all,
It’s not my fault.
She kneels down and starts to weep.
I begin to walk away.
Like sand through fingers,
My memory and morals fade.
But perhaps I didn't intend to keep the sand,
For retrieving a bucket would prove more efficient.
But changing you actions is harder than thoughts,
So I let them fly away.
Now all that remains,
Are empty excuses running through my head.
After all,
It’s not my fault.
As I wander,
I regret my actions,
But why should I?
After all,
It’s not my fault.
As I look about,
I see more and more,
People like that disgusting girl,
The more I see,
The more immune I become.
No longer do I wonder,
Should I help them?
After all,
It’s not my fault.
And so life continues for me and for them,
Knowing that no one will recognize them,
For what is more important than our fame?
Surely not them.
So together we convince ourselves,
Falsely persuading us of what is right,
Perhaps we’ll never see quite straight,
And why should we try?
In reply we scream in unison,
It is not our fault!