The Man Who Died And Went To Earth.

I just wasn't made for this world.
I'm as sweet to people as I can be
I look in their eyes and tell them how I feel
I say complimentary, reasonable things
And my eyes well with tears, because this time
I hope their heart will hear what my words
Are really saying
And be moved, and move the blood that flows
Throughout their body to answer me in kind
With sincerity and human kindness
But there is always a pause, a moment
Of confusion, almost. There is always a pause
And then a complete rejection of what I've
Laid my soul bare to say. An insinuation
That it is an act, a needy contrivance,
Or some kind of trick they haven't quite yet
Figured out, but which must cause events
To shift to my favor somehow selfishly
At their expense.

I feel like an organism from outer space
Or some kind of arcangel
Trapped in a hell of brutal-hearted people
Jockeying for position and
Slaying with malice any hint of
Grace that seeps up through the lawns
Of this world.