I always seem to be a far outlier
Beyond the box and whiskers of the norm;
In personality, deeds, and desire,
I cannot help but leave the proper form
And drift into the world as freak or sport,
Not claiming to be better, no, nor worse,
But rather of a wholly different sort:
If of the same song, from another verse,
Set in an altered key and modded rhymes,
Recognized only in retrospect.
I am a relic from more antique times,
Or else a future vision in prospect.
In short I don't belong here. Yet I stay,
You know, 'cause all my stuff's here anyway.
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