i like when you speak, so i listen to you but, when you iterate the story of the boy that wanted to pick up broken glass, of the girl that did not hold the right age or class i don’t enjoy it so, i throw a fit i freeze and force to stay behind the door but, i still hear you dance on the wooden floors the game of push and pull is keeping up the queue so, in all glory let’s hop on first class to forget the matter and the mass of the words i never admit that combine with actions we never commit and i know you keep wanting more but, there’s nothing left to adore to mourn over what fell through between me and you