I'm beginning to wonder if these butterflies will ever end.
If everytime I hear your name,
If everytime I see your face,
Or you cross my mind,
These butterflies will refuse to quit.
Nerves are a strange thing,
That sets admiration,
and the fear of losing you,
in my heart.
Each time I want to speak to you,
The words shy away,
Everytime I want to tease you,
or have the urge to mess with your hat,
The butterflies haunt me.
Why am i so shy in liking you?