Thursday, November 27, 2008
I see her standing up on a plataeu singing an ode. I
confide in her my tenderness, my feelings. With her love I am
sent a box of joy, a box of happiness.
This box, my box, it's now forever not for sale.
The golden hair around her face. I want to see her face.
She says I love you but I stand in a rut don't know what to say.
I decide to give her my box, my box of feelings.
This box, her box, it's now forever not for sale.