The Individual

I’ve heard you call me lazy,

Saying I get nothing done,

That I’m pale as a potato

‘Cause I’m never in the sun,

That I show up late for everything

And don’t talk very much

And I try to be romantic

But I just seem out of touch.

What I haven’t heard you saying

Is how still my mind can be

And softly sitting in the dark

I’m happy as can be,

That I fight to leave the comfort

That being lonely can afford

And how loving normal people

Often tends to make me bored.

You talk about the negatives

I often demonstrate.

I admit, of course, I do them

But I do them without hate.

I’m a champion of stillness

And a friend to every stress

And what you call “being nobody”

Is what I call success.

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