I confess
I admire her
I confess
That I desire her
I confess...
She does not have those stars in her eyes
Which create poets out of a dabbler
The fair twinkle of dreams floating about
In the abyss tons as they speak
The mere look of who makes them gloat with bliss
No, she is different, eloquent, yes
Her...
Aha, there she goes
Her...
Oh no, here I go
Her...
Oh no, here I go
With that melancholy charm that smoothly creeps
In their veins, annexing their awareness
Her bizarre appeal when it speaks they're beguiled
Riveting even their bones to herself
The mere look of who makes them gloat with bliss
No, she is different, eloquent, yes
Her...
Aha, there she goes
Her...
Oh no, here I go
Her...
Aha, there she goes
Her...
Oh no, here I go