I say your dress reminds me of a T-shirt I have, that I almost wear it, that isn't that funny. You say it is but you don't laugh, not that it's the kind of funny that requires one. I ask you what you do, you tell me where you're from. Far enough.
So many people I don't know. I come in with a chip on my shoulder, placed there by years of thinking I'm somebody. Gradually it's chipped away, introductions and niceties and those laughs I covet so much. It really ain't such a bad crowd.
Later I sit alone in a corner, the midst of some art installation. Photos and paintings and wires on the walls, a television displaying AOL. Kids, kids are laughing and drinking cheap beer, they don't know what they don't know yet. And there you are talking and I wish I'd worn that T-shirt.
And maybe I outstay my welcome. One by one, two by two, people start to wander home, wander off to other ports of call. And with each leaving your fraction grows bigger. They are cleaning up, you're sitting next to me, you ask me where I'm going. I never thought about what comes next. It's rare that where you're going means anything at all.
So many people I don't know. I come in with a chip on my shoulder, placed there by years of thinking I'm somebody. Gradually it's chipped away, introductions and niceties and those laughs I covet so much. It really ain't such a bad crowd.
Later I sit alone in a corner, the midst of some art installation. Photos and paintings and wires on the walls, a television displaying AOL. Kids, kids are laughing and drinking cheap beer, they don't know what they don't know yet. And there you are talking and I wish I'd worn that T-shirt.
And maybe I outstay my welcome. One by one, two by two, people start to wander home, wander off to other ports of call. And with each leaving your fraction grows bigger. They are cleaning up, you're sitting next to me, you ask me where I'm going. I never thought about what comes next. It's rare that where you're going means anything at all.
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