Something

I looked straight at that wooden chair, hoping I would appear there,
yet every time I'd time to stare, it seemed to mock the restless night.
The music that was blasting loud, the sky that was devoid of clouds,
and right into the crowd, I shouted, "Something doesn't feel quite right."
No, something doesn't feel quite right.

I believe it was October, the night everyone stayed sober,
yet I never quite got over, over that forgotten fright.
Costumes and an orange glow, that strange scent that I'll never know,
and an early snow fell on us. I said, "Something doesn't feel quite right."
No, something doesn't feel quite right.

He spoke to me in foreign words, though English, could have sworn I'd heard,
his voice was slurred as he told me all about his drunken fight.
Every time I tried to think, a noise came from the bathroom sink,
and then his drink was on me. I thought, "Something doesn't feel quite right."
No, something doesn't feel quite right.

It was never my intention to anger anyone mentioned,
even though the aforementioned never showed they were contrite.
Now and then I start to wonder about ideas torn asunder,
and in the thunder, I swore to God, "Something doesn't feel quite right!"
This just doesn't feel quite right.