This is the story of how I live in S-lane,
And how I love the little things here.
There are a thousand houses in the S-lane,
And when I walk here, a thousand looks,
Each a thousand carat diamond, greet me in the S-lane.
Each look cuts me in its own way,
One look she smiles heartless, before looking away,
One look she wishes me dead, and full of bones,
And another look she says I am all but artificial reasons.
At the end of this S-lane,
Is a graveyard of my dreams, and of my natural flair,
Still I walk in it, daily, almost daily,
With a 360-degree mirror around me,
That holds me up, to see for myself,
How I am still standing and walking tall in this S-lane,
While you, all thousand of you, run roughshod over me,
To reach that place, just before the graveyard,
Where everything is bigger than me,
Where hungry children eat what’s between my bones,
Without remorse or pity, knowing that,
Only then will I have been,
A useful furnishing of the human family,
Deserving of a quiet sleep in that graveyard,
Away from the looks of you, from the very looks of you.