he comes to me at three in the morning,
my hair a mess, my feet in slippers,
my attire dingy, but my eyes sparkling.

drunk and tired, hiding behind a tree
so my father won't see; he holds me;
light drizzle and cigarette smoke,
hazy eyes and alcohol breath;
trying to make the best of it.

he's no romeo, and i'm no juliet;
but my parents are Capulets
and he's the dangerous boy
involved with their princess.

sitting beneath a tree
at three in the morning,
no place i'd rather be;

he's no romeo,
but he's all i need.

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