Out Of Touch

Out Of Touch
de Lucinda Williams


Once in awhile we might pass on the street,
We nod we smile and we shuffle our feet,
Making small talk standing face to face,
Hands in our pockets cause we feel so out of place.
Our paths may cross again in some crowded bar,
We feel a little lost cause we've drifted away so far,
Hoping to find the right words to say,
We joke a little and then go on our way.
We are so out of touch.... yeah
We speak in past tense and talk about the weather,
Half broken sentences we try to piece together,
I ask about an old friend that we both used to know,
You said you heard he took his life about five years ago.
We may pass on the interstate,
We honk and cross over to the other lane,
Everybody's going somewhere, everybody's inside,
Hundreds of cars, hundreds of private lives
We are so out of touch, yeah