He is who he is
He is who he is
with a buzz on
He is who he is
cicada vibrato
singing blood singing bones
He is who he is
slipped by in the dark
rushing to mark the sliding away
One last son striding by
speaking slang of the streets,
scratching and shouting survival
scratching and shouting survival
He is who he is
and so are we all
chanting and drumming,
twisting and reaching,
We are who we are
We are who we are
the nightfall on us,
on our deep dreaming breaths,
driving ourselves as if we could climb
from the depths of our well
to the stars to the stars
