Macy Fawenden


There's no test for love, it's hard to tell
If you're in it or not, but she knows too well
That I love her taste and feel and smell
Excuse my french, mais elle est belle

I'm too happy to think about loss
But paranoia grows on me like moss
I'm instantly infatuated every time our paths cross
By the sight of her beautiful curls and lip gloss

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