I stand all alone in a room full of so called family and friends
and this feeling of loneliness pushes my wits to their very ends.
Why is it that I am considered the Black Sheep,
forgotten and tossed away in the cold dark deep?
I still feel that I am better than any of you--
by walking the straight and narrow path, you know this is true.
You people proclaim that you are of my blood,
then what flows through your veins must be more like mud.
But in the end, ultimately, none of you would even care,
because I am already disowned and banished from your lair.
As I stand on the sidelines, watching you play your family game,
you just look blankly at me, having forgotten my name.
Now my sorrow is turning to bitterness, so beware,
soon I will toss you all aside--that would only be fair.
But my bitterness will grow to become solid hate,
so forget you all! I am the creator of my own fate.
I wish I could understand all of this--I wish I knew,
because in the end, I know, I'm simply not one of you.