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.
