One being flowing in
The beauty of youth
Upon the brow, overshadowed
Is a history of proof
That those who are
Used to hold
Their nose so high
Must look for a truce
If they are to see
Eye to eye
Though between, might it seem
A canyon's eroding
All the empty you see
Is naught foreboding
But still, pursed
Are the lips which
Cannot put forth the name
But each can acknowledge
That we are
All the SAME