Wondering Stranger
Wondering is something I do a lot of.
I wonder because I have no one to love.
Sometimes I say I’m a wondering stranger and walk around,
With nothing but anger.
I sit outside looking above cold and shivering
On my hat and gloves.
I ask myself, "What is happening to me?”
I’m trying so hard to keep my dignity.
Oh, why am I a wondering stranger?
Maybe I can find myself;
If I could lose this anger.
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