Amid Strangers

Perfect strangers come and touch my shoulder
and say "Dixie, I'm glad you're here."
They tell me I'm so beautiful and loving
and ask "Why don't you have a husband, dear?"

You know, it's hard to answer
especially with all my trying
if I said I didn't need someone
deep inside, I would be lying

"Almost" is for horseshoes and hand-grenades
and passing is for ships in the night
I guess play games and blow things up
and sail on half-hearted with no harbor in sight.

So maybe you can see the reason
it's so strange to be in the public eye
never alone but lonely, though sad,
it's just the way some die.