They say he marches to his own beat
Makes his own path, sews his own seeds
They see him hearing but not listening
But they don’t see, they look
And they march on, the tiny soldiers
Their union bound by the tick tock of a clock
Guiding them into conformity
Blinding them from their own feet
That can walk, that can march
To their own beat
Instead they look on
Heads shaking in collective derision
At the drummer cast out for his vision
What good is a world of color without sight?
They say he marches to his own beat
And for once
They are right