A walking coffin,
Enters my line of sight,
Eyes as dark as their souls,
Skin as white as the,
Mental asylum,
That so many wish they,
Were locked away in,
People cower,
At their long hair,
And hateful gazes,
They mock them,
Make their looks darker,
The black clothes that,
Hang loosely of their frames,
How the march down the street,
In groups,
Do they scare you?,
Do you hate them?,
Because of their style?,
Their individuality,
The thing is,
You don’t know them at all,
So don’t judge.
