Unusual I think, a hero, sinner, saint,
betwixt a commoner and his tomorrow ever faint.
Alone outside, the breath of death will fog his window pane,
the three between, I'll call them we, can't see beyond the rain.
Though now for fun, the normal one,
unfairly cast aside by I,
he yells like he escaped from Hell
and now we are alive as five.
But still another waits outside.
He starts to scratch the glass
where the six of us reside.