I do not know you,
but here I sit in a cafe every day,
I sit and I look at at you from a distance,
I sit and I look at you,
oh, the quandary of you,
the quandary of you,
I ponder you,
I wonder you,
I always wonder what mood you are in,
and it is hard to tell with you,
it is hard to tell,
and I ponder you,
and I wonder you,
for you are as blank as a sheet of paper,
and so, poker faced,
I do not know what you are thinking
and what you are feeling under the surface,
and I do not know what drives you,
and what passion there is in you,
because there seems to be none to me,
none at all,
well, that is my view,
my view,
and you go around as if a robot,
and robotically you seem to exist,
you seem to exist to fulfil an unknown function,
of which I am not aware,
and of life you do not seem to care,
and you just go around with a blank stare,
everywhere, and you never seem happy anywhere,
and why live your life with such an emptiness inside,
and why live your life,
always worrying about what has upset you,
and not moving on from it,
why go around emotionally dead inside,
why go around containing a never-ending supply of tears,
and rainstorms and thunder,
that threatens to burst out of you at any moment,
and looking at you,
I cannot tell with you whether you are in agony,
or just bored of life,
oh, the quandary of you,
how I ponder you, how I wonder you,
but I, I never understand you,
but it is but a brief study of you,
whilst I drink my coffee,
and have something to eat,
and as I do you sit there like a robot,
not talking to anyone ever,
and when I leave you sit there all day,
or so the waiter says,
and when I pass in the evening,
you are only just leaving,
oh, the quandary of you,
oh, the quandary of you,
and I often walk behind you,
and I want to introduce myself,
yes, I do,
but I am too shy too,
you with your pierced nose,
and your intense blue eyes,
I do not know you,
and I am scared to say hello to you,
oh, the quandary of you,
the quandary of blank but beautiful you.