Where is your soul? Soaked into your bed?
Your thoughts are so old, wrinkled with words I never said
You spoke to me so smoothly, assuming that you knew me
Of our exchanging of air under the sun
Of a midnight dance, although we’d already had one
What is it that graces your mind and compels you to speak like this?
Is it loneliness? Is it wine? Impersonating bliss?
Which crimes against the body and heart
Do I reasonably deserve?
Which lines did you memorize for this part?
And where did you find the nerve?
Beads of sweat collect on my thighs
I feel so foreign in this place
With no real concept of time
And only a blurred vision of your face
There’s nothing I want more
Than to turn you into the thing you’re best for
Put you in the place you belong
And turn you into a quaint little song.

I wish someone would write a song about me!

Me too

Entitled for you "simply beautiful"

Nice aminal ! (Lol)