What be the man who stands alone?
So lonely in the crowd?
What makes one man an alien?
He may be quiet, or loud
But his soul screams "I am, I am"
And he doesn't seem to give a damn
About the way he's supposed to think
And they don't understand.
The crowds come on, our man be gone
To a world that's all his own.
And ever since his first recall
Forever he has known,
About the love in the smallest flower
And in the sweet bird trills
His life taught him the way to be
So he is always real.
He does not see things, how they're seen
By the ordinary man
As he so lost within a sunset
Or a lake so vast and grand.
Does yearn for nothing in this world
He only wants to be.
To know himself and understand
And melt in mystery.
Feb 27 2004.