Isn't it strange that they're dead?

Straight, wavy, and curly,

they're the hairs on our heads.

Short or long, the possibilities are endless,

the styles we use to express ourselves.

It may take a while to grow,

and we age ever so gradual, like them,

how we'll end up, who knows?

Black, blonde, brunette, or red,

heck, even green or blue.

It is our freedom of expression,

a right tired and true.

Your hair, indeed it is flawless,

and it fits your personality just swell.

Isn't it strange that they're dead?