They said
I shouldn't worry
She doesn't compare to me
In terms of beauty

But loving someone
Is like going to an art gallery
A pretty picture doesn't really
Touch your heart
As much as a piece of art
That tells a story

I guess you could say
I want to be loved
As much as i want to be understood
I want to be carved like a piece of wood
And be dyed in all shades of hue

I'm so tired
Im so tired of just being blue

Drawn to him like bees are to pollen
The nectar drips from his lips down to heaven

If god has sympathy for the fallen
I'd curse his name and say amen

Whatever he was in our stolen moments
Between back hugs in the kitchen
And him not wanting to talk or listen

It all wouldn't matter in the end
I was never his lover or his friend

No meaning he said
But with no feelings
We're better off dead

Like gentle kisses on the forehead
And warm cuddles on the bed
Nonchalance lies in the touch of the red-handed

A flower that longs to be picked
Is one that will never allow itself to bloom