Sid talks to God everyday,
His eye sees only HIS creation,
Daily, in the little things he does,
His mother doesn't know this,
And thinks her son a dreamer,
The father looks at Sid with concern,
And hopes he'll grow out of it soon,
But Sid figures it's cool, I mean,
He does think about it a lot,
' Could I be? Really I mean?'
Is what he asks himself a great deal,
Naaah! he says...OK maybe a personal,
A private idea of God, just by himself,
I mean nothing too serious, not like really!
Just....just a funny thing he was born with.
He walks past a church or synagogue,
And feels a curious relation to it, ritually,
The blonde in class almost understands,
But she appears like its better him than her,
The way she tosses her hair as she leaves.
Sid looks at the world and finds a balance,
In everything that people engage in,
And yet each thinks they come out on top,
In a world in which we play at getting even,
And for Sid that might mean getting a date,
If speaking to women was like speaking to God.
But we're grateful for people like Sid,
There's one, everywhere, we turn to look.
