There is such a thing As an individual conformed; Only society does he sing; He must conform to the norm. “I am bias,” he sings. It’s his compulsion to yield And stand out from some things— His are ideals. To be better, he pretends To stand out from the crowd, But he only contends this To show he’s grown. He ventures aloft to laugh At individuals—because Individuals, to him, are not Different—they are odd.