Oh yeah, he's a weirdo.

Never quite know what he feels though.

Talkin the storm up today

Retracting into his shell tomorrow.

Wonder now, does he hide in his joy or his sorrow?

Maybe... maybe he's just been breathing

The same air for too fucking long.

Dancing around to the same fucking song

Til you say something wrong

And his world is turned clean upside down.

Like a puzzle that took 50 years to build.

And you run around trying to sort the scattered mess

But know that it won't be the same

The second time around...

And like a plummeting rocket

He drops to the ground

From that malfunction in his emotional socket -

The circuitry that he once kept in his pocket

And further safeguarded inside a soul locket

Made from the cheapest copper available.

But crafted somewhere in Mars

Where they live on the stars that we so often dream upon

Before we wake up and they're gone...

So maybe he is... some sort of weirdo.

But he's got this weird glow

That burns

And draws your attention

To the silhouette that it makes

When he yearns...

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