I'm a fool for loving you.
Being a fool is what I do.

I lace my indiscretion
with echoes of "it's fine,"
and blame dissatisfaction
on factors that aren't mine.

I make up crazy fantasy
from the comforts of my head,
and think I know my destiny
while lying in bed.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Loving everything I see you do.

Your grace is pure perfection,
a paradise in time,
and your innocent discretion
is utterly divine.

You're walking on the air.
You're skipping off your feet.
Your words gift easy care
to the strangers that you greet.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Because I don't want to intrude

and turn your fair complexion
to torrents of sunshine
or forge a new connection
with the shackles of time.

I've got no way to hold you.
I don't want to trap you near.
There's no need for you to follow.
I'm only standing here.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Being a fool is what I do.