With wearing dark clothes or make-up
With my black boots or tennis shoes
With the funny gloves you call "Dr. Seuss"

Nothing's wrong
With the rock music you call "weird"
With the piano or microphone 'cause they fill my soul
With my obsession with bands because I feel those stars shine brighter

Nothing's wrong
With burying my head in a book since I can't face the world
With writing my songs and singing them to the world instead
With imagining my story you call "depressing"
(You'll never know the ending)

Nothing's wrong
With wearing my heart on backward and fighting for peace
With complicating my mind with words you don't understand
With reaching toward the sky with my soul and never backing down

Nothing's wrong
With crying when I'm sad
With laughing when I'm glad
With biting my finger when I'm mad

And if you thought for one second
That any of it was true
Then sorry, honey, but you're terribly wrong