Sleeping beside rocks and ants,
Roaming the vast fields like it was their own
Laughing, breathless angels of a blurred heaven,
Everyone thought they've gone mad
While I say they are just a different kind of brilliant

Living in oddly colored homes,
Rusty ceilings and ******* garages,
Singing their hearts out to the hum of a broken stereo
Everyone snickers at their bliss
But I say they are just a different kind of brilliant

Painting stories in abandoned walls
They feel the world is as beautiful as tattered pieces of clothing
As delightful as the scars and bruises in their knees
But the crowd can only feel ugliness
For these free spirits who are a different kind of brilliant

It makes me wonder, everyday,
Why the world runs on similarly crooked ideals
Plenty of despising, cynicism, pessimism
—more cynicism
When at the end of it all
You and me
We're all just a different kind of brilliant