He walks on the streets, a lonesome figure,
looks around for that familiar face.
He had her close before, an arm's length touch,
her jolly-rancher lipgloss he could taste.
He couldn't get her attention, he looked elsewhere instead.
He'd lost track of the man he was with her, he made do with fake.
He asked to be out, to only wish she'd come forward.
She said otherwise, that going on would make things awkward.
He never wanted out, but this was his only way to be with her.
He knew it was only a matter of time,that it'll happen the way he'd fear.
She used to fight it out,saying they'll work this out,
but lately she'd told him otherwise.
She'd come to realise that this would suffice.
He knew things had change, it was the only thing that's constant.
He only needed the courage to face what he'd reluctant.
So he walks the streets, a lonesome figure,
still holding on to that familiar phase.
He only needs to know if it's worth feeling anymore,
or should he stop running this race.