I walk down these eclectic city streets;
It somehow strains credulity in me
To think that every person that one meets
Is just as human as they ought to be.
Are there no demons, and no monsters, here,
No aliens born to another sun?
Is everyone quite normal - which, I fear,
Means strange enough to almost everyone -
And no one average, in that special way
That no one human is? Is no one sane
(For that is certainly a giveaway
Of inhumanity, at least in brain)?
I know the theory is they all are so,
But I just doubt it. Why, I do not know.
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