I miss your eyes illuminating with the fire in your heart,
Burning as you ramble on before returning to the start.

The lyrics, the key change, the hook, the middle eight.
"This is the best part", you say, "this next part here, wait"

Musical jargon soaring high above my head for hours
While you sing me folk songs of women with hair full of flowers.

And though I didn't understand what you meant by A Minor,
I knew it sounded beautiful because your smile shone brighter.