These streets don’t feel like home,
When I march upon them alone.
The ghosts that walk with me
Are memories of our youth;
I think we were both naïve,
Or perhaps we just didn’t want to think
That someday we would be torn apart.
I think it meant more to me,
Because you seem to be doing fine
And I’m still wandering alone—
I still don’t know where I’m headed
But I’ll search the whole world.
We walk the streets as strangers do,
Our voices foreign and faces concealed.
On separate paths we march,
Bound to never meet again.
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