Yes I am I, I myself, just what I turned out to be after all, a sort of accessory or leftover, the foggy suburbs of my sincere emotion, it's me here inside of me, it's me...

What I was, what I wasn't---that's all me.
What I wanted, what I didn't, 
   all of that gets to be me,
What I loved, what I stopped loving---
    it's all become the same sad yearning in me.

And at the same time, the impression,
    a bit inconsequential,
Like a dream made of mixed realities,
Of facing myself left behind on a seat in a trolley,
To be accidentally met by someone who'd sit down
    on top of me.

I'm me, and what the hell can I do about it!...