The Table

Looking at a table
Wondering what type of wood it's made of
Wondering exactly which tree gave itself
And more importantly

Who sat beneath that tree?
Which lovers carved initials?
What happened on the ground around it?
Who walked on the leaves surrounding?

And where are those lovers now?
Are they still with us? Hopefully
Did that tree mean much to them?
Was it their place to go in spring?

Or summer when the Sun came out?
Autumn walks amongst the leaves
I hope they know my table made me
Think of them and help me see

Much more than just a table
The people I won't get to meet
At least I got more out of it
Than just somewhere to sit and eat

Or to converse with someone else
Two folks between coffee
Now there's two more people sat down
On a once sat under tree

Ah
Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa

Looking at a stranger
Wondering what kind of life have they got
Wondering exactly what they're going through
And where they're going to

What do they care about?
And whereabouts do they go out
To let loose pre the stressful mornings?
Do they feel their job is boring?

And do they know how it feels
To fall in love uncontrollably?
Have they found their purpose or
The person that they'd like to be?
Around for months on end and spend
Days and nights there endlessly
I hope they met someone who gives them
Everything they truly need

They may just be a stranger
But I see strangers constantly
We have so much in common and
Yet not enough for us to speak

I watch the stranger walk away
They stop and look back at me
I can't tell if I'm the stranger
Sometimes I feel like the tree

Ah
Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa

Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa
Yeah, ah
Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa
Oh, whoa
Yeah, ah, yeah, ah