I could write you rhymes I could write you prose I could write you lines and lines And still you'd never know
Your eyes are burning cruel Your heart is frigid cold Still I feel no contempt for you Still my heart grows ever bold
Your ignorance is no bliss for me Yet, you are far from naive it's true You taunt me like no one before I smile still, and laugh with you
It's hard, I admit, to pretend it hurts I cherish every word that passes from your lips While your obliviousness is near unbearable Any attention, and the facade almost slips
At times harsh implications pass from you It's hard to imagine how you'd react False fantasies occur every time I hope you have Yet, a lucky guess is all, nothing is fact
So I could write you lots of rhymes And paragraphs of beautiful prose If I tried, I'd write lines and lines But my love remains hidden, which is best, I suppose