With a little quiver, a little jerk.
You always seem to be looking down,
It's like you've lost your quirk.
A certain emptiness of the eyes,
A certain hunch in your pretty back.
A pause when there is none required,
You talk with a little too much tact.
What's wrong, old friend?
Why won't you say?
Do you tell anybody?
Do you ever pray?
Your hair is immaculate,
Your glasses are clean;
But behind them your eyes
Seem to have lost their sheen.
Was it something I did?
Did I say something wrong?
Are you going to turn your head
From me all evening long?
The moths flit towards the light,
But you seem to shy away from it.
I lean towards you and touch you,
You seem to have your teeth grit.
Where's the sunshine? Where, I say?
Where's the bubbly parts of you?
Why won't you let me help, honey?
Are you lost, or have you just grew?
I feel like a stranger next to a friend,
This doesn't feel right, this isn't right.
Why have you given up? I sigh and look up,
In the gloom, the moths seem unnaturally bright.