maybe i could touch you with softest leather gloves, then you would not know it's these dirty hands that hold such affection for the lines of your face. you wouldnt know to turn away.
perhaps if i sang you what i mean to say, my voice wouldnt shake, my words wouldnt fade. my song could prove beautiful, despite what everyone makes my voice out to be. there would be no tint of gossip in it, or false, or truth cleverly hidden. there would be no twist of trickery, i wouldnt try to change the key because you were standing next to me. because binary kills the tone, and hands shake with throat, but heaven blesses notes, and im on my knees already.
you see, this girl, this town, this method, has been around for ages, and how can i correct that familiar with nothing but these pages? i cant, and that's the sharp side of the truth, the good, so perhaps this face, this city, these words, mean nothing, like they should.