I was in the street of a busy city.
One of those cold concrete cities
With loud noises and fast paced people.

Standing alone in the warm smog
Nobody noticed me as they passed by,
Walking to wherever they felt they needed to go.

I may as well have been a lamppost.
Not even that, they would notice a lamppost at night
When they use it to guide their way home,
From what ever they were celebrating that evening.

They don't think they could gain,
Any kind of their quick bursts of joy
Through a conversation with me.

Like junkies they go through life
Looking for the next high,
Hoping that whatever high they're on
Will help them get to the next one.

They can't see me.
I am alone.
Chasing lamposts.