There's a man who lives down the street from me, and
he wears all sorts of clothes, and
lives in a house painted all sorts of colors.
Some days,
he'll come down the road
in nothing but his starks, and
others he's draped in riches.
On Monday his house
is blue, and by Friday
it'll be yellow.
People ask him why all the
inconsistan-cy:
he smiles and says,
"it defines
me."
People say he's crazy, but
how can you define crazy by
jewels on fingers, or
a lack of cloth to chest?
Or by the color purple?
It makes me think it ought to be
the opposite.
