There resides an adolescent lad on the coast of the unknown.
He sings himself to sleep in the dusk of dark, all alone.
In his eyes is nothing but flames of anguish.
The words he conveys are from such an accustomed, traditional language.

He's just a citizen.
Nothing but yet another face in the crowd.
He remains cradled in the beautiful arms of America,
yet over his head lurks a dreadful, modest cloud.
He's just a citizen.
One single innocent and youthful soul,
He heeds the calls of the superior.
His heart does not appear to be whole.
He's just another broken man feeling inferior.

A man of no significance is he.
The taunt of extraordinariness is all he seems to see.
He hasn't rescue from his emotion, and can neither take refugee.
His ego reigns over his acceptable life.
In his chest is his feelings' knife.

He's just a citizen.
On the outside he is generally dull, but on the inside he is unbearably bold.
A silent, yet remarkable peer.
No one acknowledges his heart made of gold.
He's just a citizen.
Craving for something more.
He's had an abundant amount taken from him.
His life was once radiant, but now a bore.
His present possibilities of recovery are relatively slim.

Although he is amidst this lengthy, excruciating journey, he will, one day, prevail.
When his wings can, alas, be thoroughly be spread, he will, from his inner prison, bail.
But, for the present's sake, he must attempt to interpret introduced morals.
He must, painstakingly, determine his heart's, mind's, and soul's decisions and not quarrel.

For he, indeed, is only just a citizen.