that I had fallen and not left to dangle.
Believe me, an angel I am not.
But maybe that is what you forgot.
and to everyone else just a footman?
Everyone wants to be that one in a million,
but really I’m just one more burden.
I keep waiting for someone to tell me what’s right.
And the longer I wait, the more I want to take flight.
Where is it that I really am?
Am I just another person on a program?
Why is it that some people are so far away?
And those feelings are shaped purely on what we say?
I tend to find myself easily distracted.
It’s like I’ve become totally enchanted.
Is it supposed to feel this good,
or just a dream from my childhood?
Why do I always feel so guilty?
And I feel so useless and rusty.
I would definitely say that you confuse me.
And you have this way of making me act clumsy.
I don’t want to rush this,
this feeling of bliss.
So let’s just move a little bit slower,
so that we won’t crush this precious flower.
I’m sorry if this hurts,
but it’s better than short skirts.
I know this poem is also lame.
but I was trying to keep it tame.