"Outsight"

Here is a little crowd,
In which everyone is exactly the same,
All just replicas, the grand machine of life
Places before you, for you to see,
And yet you haven't even opened your eyes.

He will go on to be rich,
She, to have an affair (with him?)
He will break down and ruin his 3rd marriage,
And none of these three will succeed.

Are you beginning to comprehend?
Take is slowly - baby steps.

He had more bruises than any child should,
She has scars, on the inside,
They buried their lives a long time ago
In a black lake, far from here.
He forgot himself since he got inside.

Myself?
I have nothing to give.
Or too much, in fact,
But even the greatest gifts
In greatest excess tend
To be troublesome to recieve.

My tale is long and lonesome,
About things nobody else can see - unless
You look through the familiar faces
To piece up an image of me.