you like the way I move my hips, but sometimes I get jealous of the trees that dance to the wind better than I could ever. and I'm sorry, that you could never make me catch my breath as i do when the wind blows harshly on an early spring evening. and I'm sorry I could never look at you the way i look out the window of a plane, mesmerized I'm 47,000 ft in the air. you like the way I run my fingers down your spine slowly, but I just need you know that soon I'll leave you and your paradise that has now become my hell.