My dear friend calls me everyday.
He wakes me up at ten.
Silly things on the machine he'll say.
So I get out of bed then.
My dear friend keeps me warm.
With a gentle hug or a tackle.
His hands around my wrists swarm.
Trying really hard to get them to unshackle.
My dear friend he asks whats wrong.
He'll look in my eyes until I say something.
Oh how it makes me wish I was strong.
So I could mean it when I say "nothing".
My dear friend he sometimes needs a hug.
Like when he gets all mad and rude.
It takes away that foul mug.
And he looks less crude.
My dear friend doesn't know what he does.
Because if he does he sure doesn't show it.
And my dear friend will always be and an is not a was.
Because I won't ever let him blow it.
