Why is it that whenever,
I try the endeavor to surrender
you always render me broken, again.
Then I find my self moping when.
Not a toy or a boy, rather I’m
a man that can. However I am not apparently different
than the lot.
Try to plot the thought while
I’m caught, listening, trying not to become
Love is the only thing trying and lying,
movin’ and groovin’. If the universe
could only hear the verse, I would like to convey
to you. Dismay is the only emotion that’s
coming through. Im confused because of you.