Sometimes I think of them,
Who were once too familiar,
I think of them,
I think of them, behind a curtain
of laughter, a smile
I want to shake them,
I want to shake them, and ask
Remember? Don't you remember?
Perhaps with every shake
they'll only rattle
like a broken wooden doll
that can no longer sing,
And I'll look at my fingers
And find they are not my fingers anymore...
