He's a strangerandadanger without a purpose or a space
He's a child of emotions that are always out of place
He's keeps those bright feelings, so far back in his eyes
He keeps them locked away in this place they really despise

It's a tiny little box, no bigger than a hair;
But it's always in his chest, beating right next to *there*.
He keeps it locked tight with a key known as ice,
and he knows it can't be broken with this thing they call 'nice'

So based on what he's faced with; He feels like he can't rock.
He wanted to taste the day and give everyone a shock;
but he can't cuz' this rock called a girl went and killedbroke his heart.
So now he sits and he thinks, wonderin' why the organ and box are so torn apart.

But, you know; Me, I am, he is, a person without qualms,
he, and I, we write with word and pen, on these things called our palms
And, you know, my words might just sound a little bit fine,
But we really hate it when they're stuck in this thing that’s rhyme.

So, with this, you know me;
maybe.
and all it cost is a small, simple, safe price;
To better know me and us; all you need is a small gift of nice