You ask me, with a voice so low it is drowned by the distant highway, who I am.
And tell you who I love.
And yet I cannot tell you who I am.
Your questions gently couched in questions of statistics and health.
Your Question sticks to your face, like a fear.
Half afraid I’ll turn out to be different than you.
Half afraid I’ll be the same.
If I told you, you wouldna believe me, you’d say that I’m putting on aires.
and at the midnight hour offer up my best guess.
If I fail the test will you turn me out into that dark night?
Will you give me extra credit for effort?
Will you correct me with a blood-red pen?
Will you announce to the world that I have failed?
Who are you? This game we play but never win.
Your answer is shouted down by your nature.