There's nothing more romantic
          in my eyes
        Than holding your hand
   And talking about our lives
          Because in my mind
The only thing better than the fantasy
        Is the intimacy I feel
  When it's just you and me
            *connecting

You speak to them like they're ****,
Address them with adjectives I wouldn't like to take,
Mock their misery, and laugh at their pain,
Act like you're their God,
When really all you are is vain,
And I wouldn't care,
Except fate has me associated with you,
Which is more of a shame than pride, most times,
And I'm a little more sensitive to people's emotions than your self centered, ugly heart ever could be,
I'd correct you, teach you right from wrong,
But I'm afraid you're going to sing your own song,
And fanned with my disgust,
Be even more rude to them,
The only thing you are capable of.
*******.

If I could swallow my words
And take anything I've said
Back into my veins;
Like they never existed,
Out of all the memories
I've rewound in my head
I'd never take back a single word
But maybe would have just kissed you
Instead

Down the quiet eve,
Thro' my window with the sunset
Pipes to me a distant *****
Foolish ditties;

And, as when you change
Pictures in a magic lantern,
Books, beds, bottles, floor, and ceiling
Fade and vanish,

And I'm well once more . . .
August flares adust and torrid,
But my heart is full of April
Sap and sweetness.

In the quiet eve
I am loitering, longing, dreaming . . .
Dreaming, and a distant *****
Pipes me ditties.

I can see the shop,
I can smell the sprinkled pavement,
Where she serves--her chestnut chignon
Thrills my senses!

O, the sight and scent,
Wistful eve and perfumed pavement!
In the distance pipes an ***** . . .
The sensation

Comes to me anew,
And my spirit for a moment
Thro' the music breathes the blessed
Airs of London.