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.