Hobo's Cats

I don't think you are who you used to be And certainly not who you think you are, And, you know, I'm such a crud, I'm no better than I was, myself! Shall we just admit it And play another game tomorrow Or go on with this pretense? My life's charade is running down, May already be over, I fear, While all the shadow chessmen move on or off the game board And all these shallow disapproving smiles Appear and disappear to me all night Like a hobo's unfed cats...