What Is The Answer?

To describe my mind is easy to do.

It's on a perpetual wanderlust.

Beautiful women go to and fro,

And I simply never know.

Do they ever look at me?

Do they even give a damn?

How am I to fulfill the quest

Of procreating the human race?

What is the answer?

Surely, there's someone wiser than me.

I walk like a man and I talk like a man,

And yet, I just feel so damn insecure about it all.

I think that I know what love is,

And yet, nobody seems to be giving me a chance,

Thus, I am on a perpetual hunt for some answers.

What can I do? What can I say?

I'm here on a stump, still waiting today.

Flocks of the birds fly south for the winter,

Only to return and multiply in the summer.

I see this all the time, and yet, I never cry.

They say real men are sensitive,

That to be masculine means to cry,

And if that be the case, well, I guess I'll die without an heir.