Was it your hair or your lips or your name or something you wrote or the yellow streak that showed you stopped by, Strangers in life never to meet always alone writing living dying typing away trying to make sense of it all or to give up the ghost that hurt us the most and why do it at all when were just shadows and doubts waiting for the candle to burn out while we sit reading pretending to care of how unknown faces fare nodding our heads in our empty rooms as we dissect an empty heart we just witnessed pour itself out and here we are all repeating and weeping fingers tapping a b c d e f'ing away the night all alone or together and tom is signing asking who let in the bad weather reminding us that no matter how hard we try someone else has already done it better