Written in a small airport in the wee hours of the morning while thanking God for my friends.
A friend is one who understands
The motives underneath my plan.
A friend is one who always sees
The real me, yet never flees.
A friend is one who always knows
The pain I feel, yet never shows
Disgust with me when I am weak,
And comprehends the words I speak.
A friend is one so soon to hear
The threats that often make me fear.
A friend, I guess, ’tis plain to see,
Is really just another me.
