I don’t know you
You’re just a girl behind
A counter, in a shop

I don’t know you
You’re just a woman behind
A counter, in a shop

I don’t know you
You’re just an assistant behind
A counter, in a shop

No name,
No name-tag,
No personality,
Just someone behind
A counter, in a shop

What is your identity
behind that counter, in a shop?

Do you have a life,
behind that counter, in the shop?

Who are you,
outside of your workplace?

Will I recognize you, outside,
in the big, wide world?

What do you see, outside of your
counter, in the shop?

Is that shop you,
Your identity,
Your personality,
Your life?

Who are you, really,
Without
Your shop and your counter
Behind which you stand
And serve?

Do you know?