Verse 1 Every morning, eight-fifteen… Same old booth, same old routine. Black coffee and a folded page, Watching people half his age. Looks outside before he goes, Where he’s headed, no one knows. Never says much, keeps it light… Gone before the morning’s bright. Pre-Chorus Funny how a passing face Can leave a question in its place… Chorus Who is he? Where’s he been? Who’ll be waiting… when he walks in? Every face… every smile… Hides a thousand country miles. We connect what isn’t there… Drawing stories from thin air. Maybe every stranger’s page… Is a mirror we can’t escape. ⸻ Verse 2 Thursday flowers, every week. Never hears the woman speak. Leaves them by an old stone name… Walks away the way she came. Someone says she’s there for love. Someone says she’s given up. Nobody can really know… Still, we tell ourselves the whole. Pre-Chorus Funny how a silent scene Becomes the life we’ve never seen… Chorus Who is she? What’s her name? Who’s still living in that frame? Every face… every smile… Hides a thousand country miles. We connect what isn’t there… Drawing stories from thin air. Maybe every stranger’s page… Is a mirror we can’t escape. ⸻ Bridge Maybe we’re not finding answers… Maybe… We’re revealing… Ourselves. ⸻ Final Chorus Who am I… To decide… What another soul survives? Every face… every smile… Carries more than meets the eye. Every eye… finds a story… None of them completely true. Maybe every stranger’s story… Says a little more… about me and you. ⸻ Outro Tomorrow… I’ll walk past somebody… Who’ll never know… They became… A story… In my mind.
