You are the kind of guy with the sly eyes of a passerby;
Scoping in and out and through, yet never knowing why-
And here I lie, here I lie. But to me a blind eye.
Seeing colors but no shades and berating to berate-
Dull and dim the colors of your kin, to the bleeding of mine-
You turn a blind eye.
You gloss over and under but pride in your glossary
Of terms and trends that do not even bend for
Me. And people like me; do not pride yourself,
On being more than a mere passerby, I’m sure-
You think you are unique but to think what it is that you think-
You are just another wise guy, fly guy, you are nothing,
Truly, really. For in those shades are an escapade to all-
that is unique, don’t blink, dear passerby, you can not even
Take in all my colors with your eyes wide.