I always ask questions and my questions ask me
What am I to you? What should I be?
Am I merely a sentence that gets an answer?
Am I an object that gets used for banter?
Do I make you happy or do I make you sad?
Sometimes the answers for me make people mad.
I don't know what I am, I am just me...
Something that is heard more than seen
It saddens me so, to not really know
That the answers I never can get, are always about me.
