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The first time we met you approached me
An inaccurate preface to the starting, with you asking me what I was Reading and if I ever saw solace in lonely places like my room
Ever since then all I do is think about you

Now this friendship has grown into a sad display
Of what I would do candidly on tape
To make you see that I could be
The right person to turn "you" and "I" into "we"

It seems quite frankly impossible
That my writing would ever affect you
Like the way you buried me under mountains of mud

My finger brushes yours and my world is one inch by one inch by one inch
My finger brushes yours and my world is one inch by one inch by one inch

I write her poems I recite them
Like the man I am

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