I don't know how to play the guitar but if I did,
there would million songs about you,
about your eyes specially, those clear eyes,
and you wouldn't mind when I looked at you funny,
you wanted me to look at you that way,
you were happy with what I offered,
but I offered less than others could,
How could a day dreamer feed you with compliments,
when he doesn't even find you beautiful?
He couldn't care about the beauty,
he would be that stupid guy who saw nothing but her eyes and,
how they read those lines he wrote,
he would never be happy with that red sleek dress you wore,
he would rather be silent and demand solitude
than give you attention for that sort of thing,
he is a weird breed, cosmetic beauty isn't his forte,
neither does have a greed that the girl has the milkiest of skin,
and silkiest of hair, even pashmina would fell rough,
and your slender body, would he say something,
he wouldn't, his lips were sealed by yours!
Maybe he was that awkward guy you'd see on the streets,
roaming around looking at the tall buildings,
in his own mind pondering over his short comings,
living in the past at the present moment and thinking about the future,
future where he hasn't imagined about you,
not because he's an asshole who deosn't care,
but because he cannot care, he isn't built for that,
his internal machine does not cover the software for empathy,
while his hardware for tears actas when you read his favorite book,
tha voice, oh rejoice he feels, this so called "human being",
the textbook definiton of an anti-social animal,
who wouldn't want discover that your body is a wonderland!
