I’m living in a fish bowl,
And I think I’m growing gills.
Getting all misshapen,
But still can’t pay my bills.
Like a germ under a microscope,
They watch me every day.
Wanting to know what I’ll do next,
And what I have to say.
I’m really not that special,
Just an aging flower child.
No longer having a green thumb,
And I’m really not that wild.
Still hold tight to my beliefs,
As all good hippies do.
Freedom, love, equality,
Peace, goodwill, and communes too.
Which of these, so darn odd,
For them to study me?
For I’m merely a reflection,
Of what I’ll someday be.
To my personal piper, I dance down life’s path,
His music’s so soothing and fine.
And the more they complain about all my bright colors,
The more rainbows I’ll leave behind!
