We are, my dear, a dime a dozen people.
A, "Nothing new under the sun," animal.
Bragging of our fancy shmancy fingerprints unique to us,
We none of us have a precious thought as fresh as that helixed skin.
And good grief, you could be any Tom, Dick or Jennifer with all your humdrum desires for the exceptional.
Oh, but dear Lord, (ache) you are beautiful.
And probably most beautiful in the ways in which you always forget your address,
and dad's birthday,
and that you are
and never have been,