I'm a wannabe thief.
I want to steal things from you.
Like a sweater or a shirt.
A glance, a lighter, your glasses.
To steal a kiss would make me the happiest man on Earth.
But most of all I want to steal your heart...
and never let go.
But I'm just a wannabe.

In order to dance to the beat of your drum
You must have a sense of rhythm.
There's no use in hitting the beats on occasion
Because you'll end up sounding the way everyone does.
Just like them.

In order to wear the clothes no one does
You must have a sense of style.
There's no use in clashing your patterns or prints
Because that's a fashion and so in the end you'll be
Just like them.

But there are only so many beats you can play
Only so many colours in the rainbow
There's no possible way you can be so different
Because you are doing the very thing that makes you the same.
You're trying so hard to be the person no one understands
The person who's a mystery, who's just so different
That in doing it you've only become
Just like them.

O how sods proclaim  .  .  .
Where there should be so much shame,    
  .  .  .  Mediocrity.

Gnat is mucky king!
Little lord thinks he matters,
  .  .  .  Buzzing above *****.