The Absence of Wavelength

wait what?

Am I supposed to love this song?
If I don't, I must be wrong?
How will you and I ever
get along?
Should I lift my voice above yours,
higher in the outdoors,
yet dark, dance alone
on the floor?

Am I supposed to dig this beat,
a plain platter I should eat?
You idle at the juke, while I take
my seat.
Angels seem sing you a melody,
but for me it's a felony,
no feeling. Processed meat —
watery baloney.

I do not have to sing along.
All these years getting strong,
dining on mimics that don't compare
to Beethoven.
But you would think they won a prize,
color pop fills your eyes.
But if you look deep in grooves,
its just a guise.

Am I supposed to sing this song,
just so we all get along,
even though heard a hundred times
in Sweden?

I won't attune to Stockholm Syndrome.
Take that record and go home.
I think I will comprise
something more than glittery lies
like a lullaby.
Yeah, I changed the rhyme.