The Philosopher To The Masses by Courtney Pruitt Lyrics

I can’t help you.

I have tried aphorisms and anecdotes to
logically imply
how your situation relates to mine.
You want to be better.
I want to help.
But every time I say you are more capable,
I am quoting Emerson “Self Reliance.”
Metaphor is lost on
your beaten-down approach.
How can I say
you’ll figure it out
without sounding
like Thoreau.

I can’t help you.

Wise words
are too egotistical
for your biography.
Your mother was an alcoholic
your father was abusive,
and your willpower elusive.
I can’t help you

pull you up by your bootstraps
because you don’t know what
bootstraps are.

I can’t help you

without sounding platonic,
the cavern is too deep
and my hands too slippery.

I can’t help you.

Philosophy helps me,
but the only meta you’ll
ever see are hashtags.

I can’t help you.

The only novel you'll ever read is Harry Potter.
And you’re a dementor,
sucking the joy
from quivering lips
and open hearts
and drowning them
in your fears
so they never confront you.