When you see a guy who looks like a brute,
With black hair and heavy boots,
Beneath the toughness is probably soft,
Wearing kitten and cupcake patterned socks.
I like this idea of thorns on a rose,
Thieves who help the elderly cross the road,
A vicious canine protecting a child,
Hunters releasing caged hens to the wild.
A flower stuck on a soldier’s helmet,
An iron caste sword with a handle of velvet,
A heavily-bearded man that hides his smile,
A construction worker who dines in style.
So if you’re a wrestler who loves the opera,
Or a charity worker who’s a part-time robber,
I think you’re the ones who make life interesting,
Staying away from the structured conditioning.
We need something to break the routine,
Where the only thing keeping us alert is caffeine,
These oxymorons and contradictions,
Are the content for artists and musicians.
I wish things were simple and not roundabout,
But if that was so, there would be nothing to write about.
No books, or art or scandalous chats,
No songs, paintings or the need for cats.
Nerds who have the upper hand over jocks,
The unsuspecting killer in a lemon frock,
Or the rabbit who takes down the swooping hawk,
Do something different and make people talk.