M.I.C.U.I.S.A. 37% - Song of Myself

I am not a bit tamed, I am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any
on the shadow'd wilds
It coaxes me to the vapor and dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. (x4)

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,

But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me
at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,

If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

I stop somewhere waiting for you