She Wasn'T, Why Was I
Little letters come to me, I see her there, from here.
Th colors, the little black dress, the lime green sneakers and hair bow.
If I had told her what I knew, I'd been in fear.
Those colors that sing out to her, talk so softly for me now.
She was adorable, yes, the dress, and her semi-curled hair.
Rarely did I think that she would pick me, simply by herself.
Little did I know, oh the eloquence of my own snare.
There she goes, she doesn't want to dance: No, that's disgusting itself.
Here she asks, talk with me, how can I refuse the beautiful request?
Ah how well she thinks, somehow I wonder how she knew.
That every night she would leave, save me, to return to her rest.
Aye, that, she knew just what to say.
How is it that she is gone now? Oh, gone...
Will emotions play us ever the pawn?
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