Twice in one week, Then never before; Have I stayed hidden that long? I think no o'er has seen me more; I've made myself too meek.
Yet here I am again, Making it all about the bad. She accepted me for who I was; She did not grow fearful, disquieted, mad, To her I was a person, not a sinful stain.
In at least one place, That store on the high-street, I can be what I am, who I want to be. She was someone I was happy to meet For she wasn't disgusted to see my face.