Mask
Four blanks about how you are in front of other people. A word or two each. Then you get them back.
I don't sound like this everywhere.
There's a version of you that goes outside. The one that turns up at work, or around people you don't know well, or at the family thing. This is about that one — not a character, not somebody else. You.
Four unfinished sentences, a word or two each. It takes a minute, there are no wrong answers, and nothing you type leaves your browser.
Nothing is sent anywhere and nothing is saved — it runs in your browser and is gone when you close the tab. In the song the verses are about someone else and the choruses are about me, and it never points that out. This does the same thing with your words, in the other direction.