Your Poets Eyes

Hours become distressed and tiresome In all your filth You were some what admire some You took truth and distorted it Right before this poets eyes I was an idea stolen A compliment sealed with in a comment I wandered about In a young mans season of doubt I wrote sing songs To sing my way home I was a walk of lies Before I became this poets eyes I couldn’t tell her goodbye So I wrote her a note Accustoms of a hopeless man, shy I couldn’t tell her the truth So I whispered to her good night Eased away her helpless sighs