Somedays, I'm not
Sure why I come.
Strings of my feeble
Heart coming undone.
Frayed ends throbbing
Like the nicotine craving
In my head.

The sober call of
Loneliness from my
Drunken soul.
I speak to this here
Ukulele to feel a
Bit more whole.

But in the end, it's
Just an object that
Can't think or speak
Or feel,
And I wonder if
Anything I believe
In is real.

Some days, I'm not sure
Why I stay.
Something tells me I can't
Express myself, anyway.

Not in the way I
Want you to understand,
Anyway.

Sitting in these crowded places,
I'm a face in a sea of faces.

A face in a sea of faces.