How do I have a hope,
When over the morning hill
Your pink marshmallow hair
Echoes through the firmament
Of my days?

How am I supposed to cope,
When I can't count the ways
In which you make my heart sing?
My heart ache?
It's more than I can take.

I don't know what it meant,
But a bird with wounded wing
Stumbled through the air
And wobbled towards the train tracks to die.
Well... maybe that's a lie.
I do.