We Are Expressive

We are expressive, but excessively,
So much so that our friends start to complain
It causes them unnecessary pain,
Exasperating them, when they can see
We only say those things for symmetry:
It evens out the karma, soothes the brain,
Drops down from heaven like a gentle rain
Unstrained, and unrestrained, glad, bold, and free.

What do we know but empty words and sighs?
When were we happier than yesterday?
How will our friends prove everything they say?
Who claims our deepest feelings are all lies?
Where did these jokers learn to proselytize?
Why do we wave our arms about this way?