Perhaps there is nothing actually which is mine
Perhaps these are your words that I write, not mine

Perhaps it is you always, yet I always assume it is I
Perhaps it is you in the mirror, yet the reflection is mine

Perhaps these are your thoughts, yet I think they are mine
Perhaps it is your shadow that I see, yet I say it is mine

Perhaps it is you in my smile and grief which I think are mine
Perhaps it is your voice that I draw, which I hear as mine

Perhaps it is your music that echoes and I think it is mine
Perhaps these are your words and I think they are mine

Perhaps there is nothing actually which is mine
Perhaps these are your words that I write, not mine