I see you, and I feel my spirits soar above land,
No puzzle can replace the way your hand fits my hand,
And I know I'm fighting demons I'm too small to withstand,
But I'm running out of lies,
To hold
The summer in my eyes
For you.

You make me wanna sing for the most commonplace of things;
Like the way your smile is cratered by that dimple in your chin,
And I know I won't be noticed till I win my wars within;
And I feel so terrified,
Of having everything to hide,
From you.

You wear my smile in your speech, and my world on your sleeves,
And the bumble bee stuck in my heart refuses to leave,
I want to tell you how I dwell on your smallest of grins,
But to paint you in my hues,
Would mean I would have to lose
Everything.

So I write a little song,
And I hope you won't take long
To win.

You talk and laugh with me, but that's the me I show you,
The me that lies unseen, oh that's the me that loves you,
And he's trying hard; oh you should see the pictures he drew,
He just wants to be set free,
And reduce the lovely three,
To two.

But two is what became of him this blistering morn,
When you showed him to a friend of yours who soon would be more,
And he doesn't know to reach out for the one thing he wants,
So he's sitting by the fire,
Poking logs of dead desire
For you.

Now he wears a tremor in his speech, a tear on his sleeve,
And the bumble bee stuck in his heart's preparing for sleep,
And he's flushing down the sink every happy memory,
And he's put to kill his love,
And slipped a smile on like a glove,
With you.

So he writes a little song,
Brings the broken threesome down,
To two.

What's left is friendship that bounces from one friend alone,
You're a trampoline of joy and I'm a boy set in stone,
And when fingers brush, a tingle still caresses my bone,
But my grief goes overboard,
So I load a forty-four,
And shoot.

I write a little song,
So that even when I'm gone,
I'll love you.