you say those proverbs as if you have contrived themnI know your arrogance, but do not point it outnand you’ve not changed a bit in three long dismal yearsnI think your flaw isn’t so much your fault as a charmnmaybe I will meet you one day, maybe wednesday, maybe not...nstill, I’m sure to meet you anyway, maybe thursday, maybe not... nnI want to be younjust like a leaf that has flown away with the wind and the rainnthis “romance” is so mellow, and “so real”njust like a song that has died away with a flash in the nightnnI would like to be composed of younnyou tell your stories as if you had no respect for anyonenI sing my songs as if I were a prostitutenyou take a snap at me, and stuff yourself on my welfarenI feel like I am clinging to a cloudnmaybe I will kiss you slowly, maybe quickly, maybe not...nstill, I’m sure to kiss you anyway, maybe sweetly, maybe not...nnI want to be younIt’s hard to spend a lifetime for myself with the quakes and the stormnthis “romance” is an error, and “surreal”nit’s clear that I love your insensitiveness like the hills and the skynnI would like to be merged into you