One, Two, Three

There's three of them but one of me Honestly how could this be. I'm not beautiful, or kind,or sweet But still they follow me and call me up Saying they're happy to be going out to meet. Each of them quite perfect in a way of sorts. If only there's a way to mix them in a giant bowl of hearts. Make the perfect boy for me, then I wouldn't have to choose. One, or two, of even three, which boy to be, which boy for me. Guess I'll jump ahead of the game and see which one turns man the first. Maybe if I teach them, or maybe should I play hard to get. I can't decide if any one is worse. Maybe I can find my man my easy going number four. There's three of them and one of me my heart is torn which one to be. Each has a firm hold on a string, that stretches to my heart you see. And every time I try to flee, that silly boy he pulls my string. Now maybe I can cut the ties but then my cute boys will die. Maybe if I teach them, or maybe should I play hard to get. I can't decide if any one is worse. Maybe I can find my man my easy going number four. Or maybe one of my boys will turn to man and he will firmly take my heart and enclose it in his handsome hand. Then maybe I'll be his one day. And never worry over silly play.