Only God knows my pure intentions
Some call me a perfectionist critic,
The skeptic speaks with boastful words, smooth like silk, it's the elitism of pride
I can't fight these heavy eyes
My heart aches to know, to know with certainty that I'll NEVER be alone
Again I, the questioner, seek to be satisfied . . .
Three times again . . .
Three times now and I'm still alone
– never to try again . .
I've given up all hope on love