The crowd

The noises from the crowd, mute complexity;

the fashion of the crowd, plastic quality.

I ignore them, I don't like them, I prefer my humility

and my strong heart that transpires singularity.

I'm sceptical of the crowd, fatuity to that vacuity;

I only adapt to that thing my essence and personality.

It's a vocation bothering them more than a necessity,

with solutions and ideas poisoned with creativity,

with watchtowers of joy, guffaws of freedom,

scratches of vitality and cockroaches of humanity.

Staining depth to so much frivolity,

muddying eccentricity to so much normality.