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