It’s very well to tell me I should use my common sense,
But senses are susceptible to all kinds of pretence.
I do not trust my eyes or ears, I daren’t follow my nose,
(It sticks in where it shouldn’t be, inviting nasty blows)
While taste and touch just sit around, as passive as you please.
I do not think that common sense is any one of these.
As for my other senses, as intangible as air,
I doubt that I would find much commonality in there
My sense of humour is a joke, my sense of timing’s slow,
My sense of the occasion never knows when it should show.
As for my sense of balance, that’s been slowly winding down
'Til it’s quite a big achievement to stand firm on solid ground.
I had a sense of fashion once, I’m not sure when or why.
But if we wait here long enough, it might come wandering by.
For all the good that does us – look, I hate to let you down,
But I have to say I think you’d better try another town.
It seems I have no common sense, you’ll have to look elsewhere.
My senses, like my self, are all incredibly rare.
– Kell Willsen