We are the same, just made different
There is paint painted on me
It is a kind of paint that whose pigment can dust
And cause a different kind of stain on you
If and when;
You glide on me,
You lean on me,
And colide with me.
I keep myself away because of that difference
So as to avoid such kind of confusion
"You treasure what's yours but again confuse it"
Eager to prove me wrong but will you believe me?
Give ears to listen to the different kind of story!
The story that makes my paint that way.
Will you distinguish and help me see
If there's that I don't see that I should
Yet you shouldn't always expect that
"There must be something you see that I do not"
The truth is You never know whether I looked further
Further than your eyes made there sight
"We are the same" but, "just made different"
Though even so
How much can you make up from those two statements
"We are the same" but, "just made different"
Or is it that I am the foolish one and,
Don't deserve to sit amongst you
Just because I have a different opinion.
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