His life’s an adventure; the world is his dwelling
He is as free as a caged beast is not
He knows what he’s doing, and he is excelling
at freeing his creatures without getting caught

And he deals with people too, it’s not uncommon
that he meets people who’s in need of help;
an auror in France or a Sudanese lawman,
a mermaid in Ireland with hair made of kelp

He helps if he can, and he’s glad that they let him
Because he feels warmer when he makes them smile
They all say they’re thankful and happy they’ve met him
and won’t he consider just staying a while?

He stutters and thanks them, but he must be off, see
there’s creatures to rescue and books he must write
They look at him leaving; smiling and care-free
Surely, Newt Scamander will be alright

It’s when he has left them that misery hits him
He cannot quite grasp why he’s suddenly sad
He knows he’s not wanted, that nobody gets him
He’d rather leave early, before it gets bad

For if he stays longer, he might just feel tempted
to stay, just a while, as they always suggest
Friendship is not for him; when he’s attempted
to make friends, he’s felt he’s annoying, at best

He knows he’s an oddball with dangerous pastimes
He knows he’s annoying and doesn’t belong
He knows they’ll grow tired of him, because sometimes
he feels like he’s socially broken, and wrong

It’s niceties, really, just something they’re saying
Like “How ‘bout this weather” and “It might just rain”
So when someone asks how he feels about staying
he declines, politely, and jumps on a train

Don’t think of the people, the friends that you’re leaving
Don’t think of the closeness that you could have had
Don’t think of them missing you, crying or grieving
Don’t think of them seeing you as their comrade

Don’t cry; you are used to this – travelling alone
You know there’s no use for regrets or for tears
For you are never really on your own
You have a case full of good friends and dears

31/12 2016