You can’t hide your frying eyes.
you haven’t looked at me that way
in seven beers.
With a dip in my lip,
and my eyes on the sign,
your beautiful gaze, glowing,
meeting mine.
I will take you home and cuddle you hard.
Such a B.U.T.,
what music is made of:
You bring lyrics to my lips
and melodies to my
fingering hand.
Let me play you like I
play my guitar,
soft and sweet,
and sometimes hard.
Let me drunk text you on Thursday
so I can see you on Friday.
We’ll plan to meet at eight
but push it back till nine.
This song may be too much for me.
It makes me cry everytime.
With the air all a haze
and the burning mountain’s majesty
from where we stand on the bridge
in the middle of town,
you may whisper goodnight in my ear.
I tell you the truth:
It will be anything but.

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