Wandering the square of his village, long after all the shop doors have closed.
Lost in his thoughts, imagining what each might hide behind their closed doors.
The old woman lost her son, yet she privately awaits his return
The couple is lonely, and she loves the curious glances of the man -
who loves upstairs across the way.
That girl who loves there, but a child,
carries the love of one hundred men, and keeps all their secrets safely from them

And I? And I?
How many of these thoughts that I keep deep inside,
would destroy my future, and cast me from these streets.
Chased from my town with scorn and ridiculee.
If they knew what I have done, and what I still do.
How could they continue to think of me as they do, and welcome me
into their homes and children's birthdays?
How can these secrets be so vile, when they are
- alas -
only one part of me?