am i?

                                    first, are you our sort of person?

         If I was your sort of person,

         I couldn't call myself a son,

         I couldn't be who I am,

         couldn't call myself human.

                                 you're living a lie.

         I'm living a lie?

         says the one who denies,

         the perfect setting,

         for scenery unsettling.

I thought I knew me,

         guess I was wrong,

         and wrong for so long,

         and now the question is subtle,

         

         am I my own sort of person?


© 2010 The Still Air