You sir, are the apple of my eye. You are the stitches holding my wound together. You are the glue holding the pages to my spine. You make me whole. You are yes ma'am polite and southern pretty. Rough hands and a soft smile You make me swoon. You are are all smiles and good graces until the whiskey makes you mean. Then you are fire Eyes blazing to hot to touch You break my bones like shattered glass You paint my skin like the sun setting on a murky lake You sing a sad sad song and I want to make you okay You swing like you are hitting a fast pitch ball lights out