Would you lie on rooftops with me
In the middle of the summer, And hold my hand as I tip-toe Across the ledge beneath the moon? Spending all my time like this
In my bedroom making lists Of all the places I would rather Fall in love, Spinning fate upon a thread, Convinced romance is dead, Holding hands with the monster Underneath my bed. I never said this was me. You just assumed I was only all you could see, A pretty face in a picture frame. When did you become so vain? |