When I see you, I can only think, what is perfection, and you are in all of my recollections.
What are you made of, yes oh what are your parts, You have a smile that could drive me down this road for miles. And there’s no stopping for the stop signs, or red lights. The cars around us seem to disintegrate.
And It feels impossible, yes I am incapable of any feeling now, any feeling, even hate.
And it will never be too late, to change my mind, If it is I’ll give you the key to open up my mind.
What you find in there may not be of expectation, As you crawl through all of my old recollections.
It may be a little dusty, and yes I admit my memory is rusty, but what Can I say, you are clever, yes, an uneasy boy to sway. And I can’t seem to tell the difference between night and day.
And I am self-deprecating, and not in a joking way, but the humor seems to lag on, and isn’t too far away from the last joke I’ve made.
Am I pretentious, you say as I dwell on the subject, noticing it has been an un-nauseating day, for once,
How long with this last, I realize in every instance I can I seem to dwell upon the past.
Is this happiness? Am I numb, in pain? I guess it’s happiness when you can’t tell the difference, when you’ve lost the memory of how to play the game, is that what this is, is this a game? Oh dear, I sudenley remember that I’ve forgotten how to play.