High on Life

If life were a drug, and I imagined all these stunts,
I can honestly say that I'd only try it once.
If I woke up to find an easier existence,
I would praise the gods, and take haste to make recompense.
If getting out of line weren't so easy to do,
I'd probably be fine with thinking everything through.
But morals do not dictate all the actions we take,
Or none of us would lay waste while so many breed hate.
What good is genius, when everyone thinks you're insane?
Why don't I find it grievous when I'm feeling inane?
Why is that when I find someone to blame,
I can't hold it to them if they know my name?