No one knows the truth, and I think that perhaps I like it that way. I don't let very many in, and that's only because the ones I do constantly scream to get out shortly thereafter.
They don't know that I have a widow's peak (I do, and it won't go away... I didn't have it when I was little, which is why I'm never getting married. Because when I really do find the one that melts my heart and changes my mind about marriage, he will just die, and I have the widow's peak to prove it. But you wouldn't know that, you never looked).
They don't know that every individual song I listen to in my car has a story behind it, otherwise I wouldn't listen to it. They don't know where the smirk is coming from every time Duran Duran comes on the stereo. They don't understand why it is so hard for me to listen to Garbage. And they most certainly don't understand the most recent one.
Sometimes you need one to understand the other. If I spoke my own language to you, you would need a translator. What if I gave you the language, but no translator? Or better yet, left you with the translator but chose to never speak.
That's what I'm doing. I'm only giving you one when you need two, but I doubt you care. Maybe you like it when I'm vague. Do you really need the salt to go along with the pepper? In my case, you'll pass.
Some of you have the other, but it doesn't mean anything to you.
The mind of the psycho says: hide in plain sight.