He sits on the curb
Pushing his thoughts downstream
He’s got a mind in the sky, and dreams like none other
But he’s cold in July
and he’s got scales on his eyes
He looks in the mirror and there’s a man starring back
Bruises on his arms
And skin as white as the blank sheet of paper he keeps in his pocket.
He looks to his left and looks to his right and nothing seems to change
But this kid on the curb he’s got so much to say, and so much to prove
But the world couldn’t want to hear from a mute.