Sheath of words

Lying on a bus stop, with sparkling white hair glistening in the champagne rays of the dusk. He looked desolate and wore sadness and poignancy to cover his ragged being along with a robe of words. His orphic figure lent him a poet's disposition. Muttering away to people passing by; his words.
"Why are you looking at me, rather staring, I am not a raving mad person."
"You..you...you... look straight and wipe that smirk off your face."
"The sky is turning from a blue to a grey to a semi-black, the colours are changing. From the wardrobe of nature, Time chooses what to wear, during the day, it wears a bright shade and as the night approaches, it likes to slip into a darkness, a darkness that befits the moon."
"I may look dishevelled and dirty, my soul is not."
"Joy is the best makeup."
"I am speaking so fast because I want to see how the story turns out."
"Who wants to face a calvary before dying, you...you or you..."

Desultory he did sound, perhaps because he hears a different drummer. He maybe trying to step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

Using words as a shield, one likes to hide behind them. The thoughts in one's head may be diabolic, however, words spinning out dresses up the devil.

Oh words, you are a release,
Oh words, you are a conundrum,
Oh words, you are a potent concoction,
Oh words, you are my ivory tower and hell....