Thrill of a leftover frill

There’s always a thrill of a left-over frill,

Yes,

Strange, they say you get wiser with time,

With time I learn’t what my love is,

What it feels like to love somebody else and when someone else could love you the same,

That thrill,

I look at you, I look at you, how could somebody not love this being I think.

I look at myself, I look at myself, how could somebody love so much I ponder.

Is there something similar between you and me?

I’m desperate to say so, but yes, something is.

Being loved still thrills me the way I am for you.

Kiddish me says stop here, stop here cos nobody ain’t got time to be acting less than wise.

Whatsoever way you do away with me, I got nothing to lose,

Cos I’ve lost each time, every time.

Say nothing, cos I deserve no words from you.

But I do deserve that eyes which exhilarate me with love,

I do deserve that sweet fragrance of yours which makes my heart race.

Can’t say how much I hate your fake smile,

Your fake gestures of care.

I should’ve shut the door early, early enough not to let the strangers in.

Not to let the strangers in.

It’s my predicament forever, that why did I ever say it was fake, it might not be. But I could never ask you.

I could never ask you.

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