They say nothing to me
I say nothing to them
Sometimes I can't believe this is home

I've heard it before
I thought I'd been over that
You'll never really pass
The things you're afraid of

The man on the plastic bag looks like terror
He's starring at me I can't say why
His face seems spoiled

When I think of calling a friend
I notice that most of them have mutilated
Into acquaintance

Maybe that's my fault
Maybe it's a form of getting old
I'm used to small talk at the moment