I don’t know why we come here

and treat it like our home.

With books and tangled wires

keeping, private thoughts our own.

Do we come just to be served?

To feel like we’ve been missed?

We zone-out till our name is called

like spoiled little kids.

I don’t know why we come here

or why we stay so long.

With earbuds in we’re locked

away, to each his silent song.

Do we stay for the attention?

To feel like we’re a part?

Then judge our neighbor blindly

like, mockery’s an art.

I don’t know why we come here.

I feel most alone.

With books and tangled wires.

Was home this far from home?