And through the glass, I see you passing by --
You look away as time keeps marching on.
How could you know that I wish to reply,
that my heart bleeds each time I see you gone.
The world has labels; "Idiot" is one.
They call me "retard" as I drool and smile.
But I still love, and I still feel the sun;
I know I'm strange, but I know I'm worthwhile.
So next time that you pass, please stop and play
and don't walk by as if I don't exist.
This is the message I wish to convey:
When I am gone, I want to know I'm missed.
For soon, my soul will fly from this cold cage;
I will be free from sickness, death and age.
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