The Spanish Inquisition wasn't exactly full of questions,
Not that I was expecting an interigation in to my passions.
But something happened, almost yet again,
And now I'm left once more to pick up this pen.

What can I do when I'm told this is merely a fantasy?
Who says a dream can't transcend to a reality?
When something feels right, in my case it seldom finishes.
My faith in finding the love once had, diminishes.

But I'm 'amazing, wonderful, super, brilliant, fantastic'
How can my worth be comparable to recycled-plastic?
A spine-tinglingly wonderful kiss is all it took,
To tear my flesh with this big old rusty hook

I'm not waiting but that's a lie and I have no choice,
Seriously, what can I do? I have no voice.
I done all that is right, and maybe too much,
Utterly fed up of being 'too nice' to touch.

But then again, it's not about me is it?
It's the few women, who do what they see fit.
Was I just a toy, for a weekend break?
Not entirely sure how much of this I can take.

My brain spirals out of control with matters of the heart,
Never shall I roll the dice, and turn to the brazen ****.
For I touched greatness and I want some more.
Just another one-way affection story, we've all heard before.