Lovely, roses corrupt my soul.
Tiara-topped witches dance over, my heart.
You and your pure words,
I cannot understand them.
Tearing, apart pages I've left unread.
Tearing, apart sentences I haven't said.
Judging, my imaginary words.
Lovely, stories corrupt my soul.
Weaving worlds of utter romance
Girls bred to look for, men.
Men bred to ride, white horses.
You, know nothing of white horses.
I'd never look for you if you asked.
judging, our intrepid capability.
You, are über lovely.
I listen to your stories.
I accept all the roses you send my way.
We run through meadows.
You, call for me on the telephone.
Hold the door sir as I run for it.
But I shouldn't even ask this of you.
For it's already finished.
We do all but, admire the obvious.
Roses never go unnoticed.