You used to sing these songs that I know.
And you used to sing them with me.
Now you sing them straight into the wind.
And this anguish is something you’ve chosen
to avoid acknowledging completely.
The more I go out,
the more I wish I had just stayed in.
The more I see,
the more I feel my head cave in.
You tell me not to be a stranger,
as I’m walking away faster than I came.
Recognizing you isn’t easy,
masquerading around with a different name.
You say, don’t be a stranger.
I wonder why we’re having this conversation again.
You’re avoiding my eyes,
and I can’t think of what else I’ve ever been.
You say I shouldn’t be a stranger.
It’s the same conversation on repeat.
You’re as vague as ever,
and I wonder what else I’ll ever be.
I feel like a stranger
to an inexpressible degree.
It doesn’t matter where I am
I’m never where you’ll be.
I’m nothing more than a stranger,
passing by so fast you can’t see.
I’m never what you’re wishing for,
because I’m only ever what you ask me to be.