I was raised up believing I was somehow unique, like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see. And now, after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be a functioning cog in some great machinery, serving something beyond me. But I don't know what that will be – I'll get back to you someday soon, you will see.
What's my name? What's my station? Oh! just tell me what I should do! I don't need to be kind to the armies of night that would do such injustice to you, or bow down and be grateful, and say, "sure, take all that you see," to the men who move only in dimly-lit halls and determine my future for me. And I don't know who to believe – I'll get back to you someday soon, you will see.
If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see of the world outside is so inconceivable, often I barely can speak! Yeah, I'm tongue-tied and dizzy, and I can't keep it to myself! What good is it to sing helplessness blues? Why should I wait for anyone else? And I know you will keep me on the shelf – I'll come back to you someday soon myself.
If I had an orchard, I'd work 'til I'm raw; if I had an orchard, I'd work 'til I'm sore, and you would wait tables, and soon run the store, gold hair in the sunlight, my light in the dawn. If I had an orchard I'd work 'til I'm sore.
