Fish Out of Water
You're a fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
Your lungs ache with the effort it takes just to sigh
And it seems like a chore to keep breathing all day.
There's nothing easy here, no matter what you try.
Your awkward feet and elbows are always in the way.
There's nowhere to hide from the gawkers who stare
like you're some oozing, reeking aliens stray.
Nobody looks like you or wears clothes like you wear.
If blending in could just be bought, you'd gladly pay.
Despite your discomfort, you know people don't die
Just from being out of place, but then again you may.
You can't seem to leave although you don't know why.
So, confused and uneasy, you seem destined to stay
A fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
In Honduras once--sometimes twice--a year
Hundreds of fish rain down from the sky.
They're all the same species, which doesn't live near.
Call it an unexplainable phenomenon--it's still dinner to fry.
The people say it's a miracle wrought by a saint
Who prayed three days and nights for food for the poor.
as an explanation, the story's , well, quaint,
But if it's not true, what are fish falling for?
So you're a fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
Maybe you're just a freak, more weird than rare.
You feel like an oddball, and I understand,
But you might just be a miracle, an answer to someone's prayer.