The highest mountain rock falls to ripple
In the lowest fountain water
There is no time to stop,
For we are merely landfill fodder
Most burn the candle at both ends
To some that is very quick
Yet others have no ball of wax
They merely torch the wick
I do not say a Plain Jane life
Is a not stray in any manner
One could not make me trade my weird
Even if using a hammer
It is not that I am deranged
Rather it is that I will not conform
I refused to tear my fabric
To yield to any twisted norms
While the strange societal few
May only be fodder for the gristmill
We are lowly forceful water
Bringing highest mountains to rubble hills