there are many things that i would do,
and say many things which would be untrue,
to make you smile, when you are blue.

right now i am whatever you need me to be,
i have always been like that, how stupid that was; i could not see.

think about it again and again,
and its pretty clear and plain,
this could only end up with pain.

so like a bad story book,
before it holds on, before it can plant its hook,
i, like you say, need to take; another look.

reasons are clear and are never fair,
words are words, but there is still fear,
it should end, or too much; we will care.

so the end remains a mystery, an unsung song,
just a part of history.

friends we'll be,
our conscious; guilt free,
our lives mundane, when we end this story of you and me.