There are things I am obsessed with
There are things I couldn't care less about
There are people I worship
And then there are others, I wish they died
He looks at you like you're something,
really something, and always new.
He wishes he could touch your skin,
your smooth, white skin, and only you
Know how it feels like to dance in the wind
with the singing mocking birds,
and the most lethal sin.
[But on Sundays, he never went to church]
He looks at you like he's in love
But is he really, or is he not
Everyone else knows
He pushes you on the bed and you stutter
"I'm in love with someone",
you manage to mutter
He just laughs and knows who you mean
Because really, everyone knows you're in love with me
Selite:
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