My heartfelt things are starting to lack, when you bare your back. When I stroke my heart strings you just back hand me as you pass from your derriere. I frown, and slightly weep then I wish to speak unspeakable things. You look at me innocently like you have no clue, are you really that blind? Or am I just not what you want, and you are unsure of what you seek? I am not your doll or your game. My harp plays with every thump, but it grows quieter with each passing day. Till one day it wont strum no more, and you won't know why. I wont hold your hand for you are a fool, and I am foolish for loving a fool.