Through a street with silver lights, I walk,
Down this path, I walk.
People are staring,
With weird gazes, searching.
Looking, they seek normal norms.
Different they see I am,
And afraid they are of a black lamb.
My thoughts may diverse,
But I am not afflicted by a curse.
My soul is old, and once was even cold.
As I walk pass these stares of ice,
I'm walking alone by my own demise.
I've moved on,
And so should you...
