Diferente

It's a mix of violence and tenderness,
Plays a guitar made in Taiwan,
Hair blowing in the wind, smells like vinaigrette,
His way of thinking might scare you.
He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone,
He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone.

Wearing a shirt he doesn't know who it belonged to,
Glances sideways like a dog ready to jump,
Sings melodies that aren't for this era,
There's no market that can handle them.
He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone,
He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone.

With a lost look, he walks away,
Almost invisible to everyone else,
Following the trail he could find,
A different kind of love.
Thousands of stitches sparkle on his shorts,
Forming a design so abstract and so real,
His presence lasts as long as his coherence,
He speaks unclearly but never says too much.

He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone,
He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone.
He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone,
He writes alone, sings alone, listens alone, all alone.
With a lost look, he walks away,
Almost invisible to everyone else,
Following the trail he could find,
A different kind of love.