You talk about the friends you’ve made;
the people you’ve just met and the one’s for whom you’ve prayed.
You talk about everybody when nobody’s there.
You thought they’d have stayed;
the pals and the clowns in your silly parade.
You talk about everybody when nobody’s there.
You adored the mates you invited in your charade;
the ones who never hesitated to run for your aid.
You talk about everybody when nobody’s there.
You tried to keep your small brigade;
the “mates” whose pretense there blatantly displayed.
You talk about everybody when nobody’s there.
You miss the thrills, for anything, you’d never trade;
the string you always knew would end up frayed.
You talk about everybody when nobody’s there.
You recall the blithe prancing that joy pervade;
the “tight-knit” friends now strayed.
You talk about everybody when nobody’s there.
You fancy the idea of them all replayed;
the consequence of the respite you chose still, all them, outweighed.
Now, you can only talk about everybody when nobody’s there.
Yet you still hope for somebody to be there.