Lost in Crowds Ian Anderson

I get lost in crowds: if I can, I remain invisible
To the hungry mouths. I stay unapproachable
I wear the landscape of the urban chameleon
Scarred by attention. And quietly addicted to innocence

At starry parties where, amongst the rich and the famous
I'm stuck for words: or worse, I blether with the best of them
I see their eyes glaze and they look for the drinks tray
Something in the drift of my conversation bothers them

So, who am I? Come on: ask me, I dare you
So, who am I? Come on: question me, if you care to
And why not try to interrogate this apparition?

I melt away to get lost in this quaint condition

In scary airports, in concourses over-filled
I am detached in serious observation
As a passenger, I become un-tethered when
I get lost in clouds: at home with my own quiet company

Herald Tribune or USA Today. Sauvignon Blanc or oaky Chardonnay
Asleep for the movie. Awake for the dawn
Dancing on England and hedgerows –
Embossed on a carpet of green. I descend and –
Forgive me – I mean to get lost in crowds