He hides in his turtle shell
Afraid to meet the world
To face the gaping eyes
To hear the intruding voice
His tongue refuses to speak
His mind works no more
In the company of empty souls
So he better shut up
In his house of solitude
Rather than act bizarre
And make a fool of himself
In the eyes of the ones
Who gauge you by looks
And pass a judgment on you
By the standard of their pettiness
For them, he is a no-body
Living inside the confines of reserve
Narrow and suffocating to death
Alone and burning in hell
For he cannot think like they do
He cannot flow with the stream
He cannot be them
He is a misfit as they say.
Misfit
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