Lyrics by Ray Weston

Her dance a fluid easy grace
Like resting in the palm of God
She moves in silent circles, mine is sore to watch
Almost comical at times
Such movements unlike habits are not natural for me

Myself and I are happy wearing our head the way it is
She primps to her own reflection
She to be a queen
And I labeled decoy draw attention from her beauty
For this she snubs and circles me in spite
Pirouettes, lands like a feather on the calm of the lake
Without a sound she takes flight again

And again the chatter starts about her
Lack of social grace as she mingles with the common breeds
I am quite the jester, she more the prude
With neck-high buttons fastened tight
As if to ward off any sign of laughter
I am many shades; she just black and white
It's not her fault, we've made her what she is
If she'd get the hint, she'd take off in a huff

She'd always had a mind to leave
I'm happy with my home here in the marsh