It must feel nice
To feel like you have the
Complexion of God or karma

Cover your face,
I have a secret to spare
I'm broken in the ugliest of ways
And your jokes or attempts at being clever,
It passes by me

You can't touch what's not there,
You can't punch the feeling
When it's hallowed out
Only comes alive for a guy I'll never know,
The kind that moved on

The questioning pinning,
The drama of it all
It's for the birds

He doesn't think of me
But I know he's out there
He doesn't see me anymore
But I dream of a figure that still cares