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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 sought 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
