Melancholy & Missing Lighters

I ran into a man boutta half past ten In the middle of the night at a river bend, Only thing there been that he didn't stand quite so tall, I said "Good evening," and "how you do?" All he did was croak and pathetically rue Over bugs not jumping on into his frying pan, I gave myself a fright and forgot how to stand, I hardly even noticed he was holding his pan, Frogman, is right before my eyes. Frogman, frogman of Loveland, Ohio, How far can your amphibious tongue go? Frogman, frogman, are you cryptid or kin? Are you cursed to hunt just like a human? Frogman, frogman, won't you please tell me? Cause it'd be quite rude to ask about your anatomy.

  It's lonely inside my mind, but even lonlier amongst mankind. They see me as I stand, without perceiving who I really am. Their eyes tear into my skin, shaping me to their realities within. What am I outside my memory? Nothing I really want to be. Will anyone else hear the tones which settle in my bones? I'll climb the tallest tree, maybe then they'll hear my screams. I'll remember my worth, so long as I always fall back to Earth...