His words reach in to me,
Extracting what I knew not was there.
He forces me to cry for him
And I don't even know who he really is.
I can feel his loves and hates
And I'll never even meet him.

Who is he?!
No more than a voice,
Just a damned voice.
Yet he's a voice that's made me tingle late at night,
Laugh during the business of the day
And has spurred me on in the pits of mental hunger.

He's just a voice, eh?
No!

He's feeling.  Complete.