Don't call me worried; I'm just a bit flustered.
I've used all the patience I've mustered.
A feeling best described watching people walk by.
Then there's a reaction; add this subtraction -
a feeling of warmth when you're near.
This inkling I've had has invaded my head:
who are you to betray - double-cross - enslave with your gaze?
We all know beauties age. You won't get away.
Cyclical self-preservation meld down to a girl.
It isn't you. It's probably this world.
This place. Where tradition's at stake.
Here's to my hope that we'll meet one day in the rain and orchestrate -
I still have hope in the hopeless, a rope for the rope-less,
the off-chance you'll notice: I would be true.
Off-meter you've made me; now erratically awake - I wonder
was I wrong all along?
or is wrong relative?
when white lights flash
flaws emerge in the negatives
I'd guard against being proved wrong
but my fingers'. been on. the shutter. all. a long.