i am but what you think of me
and nothing more unthinkingly
an inkling and credulity
you know as well as i
that eyes befalling from outside
see everything we try to hide
like sharks trapped in formaldehyde
but all of its a sham
for i know not you, you not i
just brushstrokes in a painted sky
just a collection of notes in a book or melody
that form a song
and who knows what i sound like to you?