DISCLAMER: I dont own anything.

{Farewell and goodnight last one up turn out the lights

and let me be, let me die inside}

A small boy, looking in age about nine sat by an old, faded green road sign, welcoming strangers to St. Louis. He looked so alone, in his blue t- shirt and jean shorts; hanging his head down to the littered ground; with an aged brown suitcase by his side. Almost as if fated my car died, although I'm not leaving it all up to fate because it did that all the time.

{Let me know the way from of this world of hate in you

Cause the dye is cast, and the bitch is back

and we're all dead yeah we're all dead;

inside the future of a shattered past}

He stood up when my car stopped, he watched me. When he walked toward me I didn't know what to do so I got out of my car and walked toward him. His walk was crooked, as if he couldn't see straight. I lit a cigarette as I walked, burning myself with my lighter I dropped in on the ground. He bent down then and picked it up for me, looking at me with his lifeless eyes.

{I lie just to be real, and I'd die just to feel

why do the same old things keep on happening?

because beyond my hopes there are no feelings

bless the martyrs and kiss the kids

for knowing better, for knowing this

cause you're all whores and I'm a fag}

He wasn't a real kid I told myself; just a machine, someone's old trash they didn't want anymore. The eyes gave it away, they had no feeling. I reached out and took the lighter, brushing his hand in the process; it had felt human, warm, and alive. He continued to look at me and I took a puff of my cigarette, blowing the smoke out my nose. I didn't know what to think, mecha aren't alive so what was he? Still he watched, he hadn't said a word to me.

{and I've got no mother and I've got no dad

to save me the wasted, save me from myself

I lie just to be real, and I'd die just to feel

why do the same old things keep on happening?

Because beyond my hopes there are no feelings}

The cars music blared from the FM radio, an old, old, old song. By the smashing pumpkins, a good old band, long forgotten by most. I turned to walk back to the music and the car, but the kid reached out and grabbed my jacket. As I turned around I started to say something, I forget what it was because I stopped saying it when I saw his eyes, they were sad. Machines don't feel.

"Kid, tell me, are you Mecha, or are you Organic?"

He looked at me and said, "Does it matter?" and that made me think, and I didn't stop thinking about it for a long time, because I didn't have an answer for him then, but I do now. It shouldn't matter, but for some reason, yes, it does. Funny how long it took me to think of those words, those ten words, seems simple, but it wasn't.

{everybody's lost just waiting to be found

everyone's a thought just waiting to fade

so fuck it all cause I don't care

so what somehow somewhere we dared

to try to dare to dare for a little more}

I left him there that day, not sure of myself. He was standing in the middle of the road, looking like any other boy, any other human, and I'm not sure if he was or wasn't. His question has been asked in the past many times, in the long ago slave days, World War II, and the fight over gay rights. As they say, history repeats itself; any difference sets you apart, no matter how small. That's just how it is in this world.

{I lie just to be real, and I'd die just to feel

why do the same old things keep on happening?

Because beyond my hopes there are no reasons}
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