Her

I confess I admire her I confess That I desire her I confess... She does not have those stars in her eyes Which create poets out of a dabbler The fair twinkle of dreams floating about In the abyss tons as they speak The mere look of who makes them gloat with bliss No, she is different, eloquent, yes Her... Aha, there she goes Her... Oh no, here I go Her... Oh no, here I go With that melancholy charm that smoothly creeps In their veins, annexing their awareness Her bizarre appeal when it speaks they're beguiled Riveting even their bones to herself The mere look of who makes them gloat with bliss No, she is different, eloquent, yes Her... Aha, there she goes Her... Oh no, here I go Her... Aha, there she goes Her... Oh no, here I go