I've written a thousand rhymes
to tell you how much you mean
to me.
I've scribbled a hundred pieces
of my weary heart on the pages
of my diary.
I've missed a lot of moments
and chances to fall in love with
reality.
I've often tried to stop and let go,
I didn't know I would feel this
empty.
If this is so wrong for me to say,
I'd even speak more and
clearly.
If loving you would seem to the world the worst nightmare,
I'd do everything to sleep for
a century.
These are all that I'd love to do
if only I hadn't wasted
so much time.
But to hold on to these things,
even as a dream,
would be such a pathetic
crime.
Unchanging, yes.
