Not Much for Proper Men

Oh, away now, away away,
Have at yourself now,
For we are a man of loneliness,
Stripped bare in our last blue evenings,
Stripped to the bare bone in desolate solitude.

And I have seen it,
In my time the ones we call others,
On our streets and around towns, and in our consciousness,
Cheerless through the evenings
Cheerless under tragic light with smiles faded.

They knock at my door, and I knock back
No greetings required, not in this time anyway,
And we will exist as we will regardless,
Talking through the pine
Talking faceless and still spoken untrue

And we will dress so nicely,
With such care to degrees of insanity,
So as to look our best, and yet,
We have forgotten to acknowledge
That we are not much for proper men.