"Say say my playmate
Won't you lay hands on me
Mirror my malady
Transfer my tragedy
When it comes, it's in a wave. You cannot hide. No mantras will dispel it. Like an old friend, you say, I haven't seen you in a while."
Zen is speaking here of his melancholy, or depression, if you prefer. Later in the post, he makes another observation, which returns to the idea of exile:
I feel like I will never sit in my walled garden, with bees in my pear tree. I will not grieve for what I should have had, or could have had. I will grieve only for the tousle-haired boy who ran on Hayle beach, the wind in his hair, salt in his eyes, free, because he got lost in this world, and once you are lost, it seems, there is no way home.
yeah whatever: Lost on the way
