Why talk, when the talks are superficial?
Such a waste of your voice.
Wouldn’t you prefer silence than the pretense?

Why meet, when your presence gives goose flesh?
Such a waste of your time.
Wouldn’t you prefer solitude than the pretense?

Why see, when your heart cringes at the sight?
Such a waste of your sight.
Wouldn’t you prefer to be out of sight than the pretense?

Why try, when you know one can’t clap with a single hand?
Such a waste of your emotion.
Wouldn’t you prefer detachment than the pretense?