Habits & Plans

The light on the lake through the leaves,
the fading grass stains on your knees,
the cling of your dress in the breeze,
the sting of these memories…
Is it mine? Is it mine?
What do I own?
Just the choice to be left alone.
Is that my voice on the telephone?
What do I own?
Who is this man?
Just a bundle of habits and plans,
or the way that he grins or he stands…
What do I own?
And everything falls through these hands,
gone before I understand…
Flowing like water, flowing like sand,
every decision and every plan.
Is it mine? Is it mine?
What do I own?
Just the sum of the things I’ve been shown,
or the chances I’ve grabbed or I’ve blown.
What do I own?
Who is this man?
Just a bundle of habits and plans,
or the way that he grins or he stands…
What do I own?
And if in ten years I pass away,
not an atom of me will be the same.
So, whose is that body lying in state?
Whose is the dust that blows away?
Is it mine? Is it mine?