They don't know my name here

They don't know my name here.
They know my face, they know my voice, my smile.
They know how I walk, how I laugh.
But they don't know my name here.
They know who I'm supposed to be, who I mean to be, who I think I am
But they don't know my name here.
I forget it so often myself.
I know who I'm supposed to be, who I mean to be, who I think I am
But they don't know my name here.
I wonder do they want to know me by name,
Or do I want them to.
There's a certain comfort in the thought --
They don't know my name here.
But then if they don't, who does?
And where does the comfort go then