All my friends are going to be strangers.
I can see the day they don't know my face.
And we'll pass each other on a crowded street corner,
each of us conveniently replaced.
There may be a brief spell of recognition.
I may feel a sense of deja vu,
like I have seen this face once, a long time ago...
perhaps a dream I had at one or two.
But all my friends are going to be strangers
and I may reminisce now and again back to a time
when I could call them brothers and think on things that once might have been.
Every time I wake up from a dream I check myself, make sure I'm still alive.
Because if I dream too long that I am in heaven
I fear that in the night I may have died.
Sometimes I don't know if I'm anyone at all.
Sometimes I don't know if I'm anywhere.
They say home is where the heart is, I'm not sure.
All I really know is I'm not there.
And all my friends are going to be strangers.
And all the words we've spoken will disappear:
everything I said to them in anger, everything I did out of fear.

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