Everybody walks in different directions
Windows around them giving reflections
Showing mysterious lives and affections.
And you eventually find
There is a weird kind
Of violins playing in your mind.
And in your head
You wish the world could be read
And everyone would rise from the dead.
Yet you can only take so much in.
Our skin is thin
And the reaction is a silent grin.
And you walk along
As if nothing’s wrong.
Your mind playing your lively song.