With your feet up high

With your feet up high, the wrong place, the wrong time, strutting around in a future that never was yours.
Sometimes I wonder. Wonder, who's idea was what, how much is mine, how much is yours?
May I be sad now? Desperate? Confused? Longing? Depressed? Aggrevated?
Nobody can consult. You know, they tried to teach you that all along, and still you linger around in a cloud of guessing. Thoughts instead of deeds and depression trickles in like blood every month again, moon, so full, clouds so shallow in the sky.
Sometimes I would say good night and nobody even knows what that means. Ever.