Playing the Game

Do you think the wind ever whispers your name,
When you’re walking alone and you’re cold in the breeze?
Does it ever feel like you’re not really alone,
Walking back through the night to your lonely home?
Does the blanket covering you up and wrapped so tight
Ever make you feel like the bed’s not empty,
Or that there's someone there on the other side?
When you wake up and stare in the mirror
Past your own stale gaze into the glass plain,
Do you ever think that you see another face,
Laughing at the game that you always hate to play?

Neither do I.