No one is a strange fellow
He's me but how can that be true
If Descartes only knew
That I know that I'm not
He'd shoot me and tear this poem in two
Before scribbling cogito ergo sum.

I wish I knew him, No one that is
There's this hole that leaves me somewhat distraught
Between my heart and a soft tender spot
Where my soul used to play
And I think No one could slot
There, I feel kind of hollow without him

Yet No one is a stranger
Strolling streets draped in gray
I see his every blink, hear everything he may say
But I care nothing for his life, lot,
Or the contents of his day
He's nothing to me, No One