You wouldn't notice him
Looming in the doorway
Or plastered to your wall

He's a little to dark
A little to ready
To annoy you with his constant buzz

They're high on jealousy to taste his life
It is poison for which we infants are to pure
To ever taste.
They don't pity his disease though it has no cure

So when it's over,
When I still love him, he'll step
Under his spotlight, and only I
Can cry.