There isn't much I can do,
For me and you,

And I have read,
Love's skies are burgundy,
Promises it holds of all hues,
Then why when in blue,
Love, you said all is there, but me.

Is this all a fued,
These voices of far cues,
Have you found somewhere,
A promise so true.

And there's nothing much that I can do,
For me and you.

Cause I have read,
That once who've fell,
They color all just so well,
In a hue so red of burgundy.
Like a story off a past century tree.

Is it all just tinted hues,
You and me on the line,
With voices all opium blue,
A promise none like glue.

And there's nothing much I can do,
For me and you.

Cause I have read,
Too many lines,
That have fallen for burgundy times,
Wells of indigo blue,
Like a story so true of rue.

Is it, say, all our dew that blew?
How could I've ever known, 
There was something love could do,
For me and you.

And there's nothing much I can do,
For me and you.

Cause I have seen,
Things fall so fast,
Lightening, blazing past me,
Love, we can't catch me and you.

After all those many risks and whens,
All looking for a safe heaven,
Have nothing much to stay,
Cause I read past them, 
So much I do,
Gathered my love, and I dos,

But, still there's nothing much I can do,
For me and you.