He's the silver truck parked outside;
and the bathroom towel left on the floor.
Every morning up at four thirty;
sees whats on, and the papers at the door.
Gets home 'round three forty and;
he won't go no where tonight,
because he just wants to relax
and he doesn't care what's right.
An orange hat on his sandy hair,
and light blue jeans are baggy.
Warm slippers on his feet,
and his bright blue eyes lookin' at me.
I feel like I'm learning to breathe around him
because its so hard not to stare
and my heart is feeling anxious,
but closer moving to him, I don't usually dare.
The smell of spearmint tobacco,
and a hint of old spice cologne
He goes to bed early
and usually its alone.
Some day I hope he learns to complicate
and make me his second half he's been missing.
But some how I feel that it will become,
an extraordinarily long mission.
His favorite color's green
and he likes to watch football.
Born on the eighteenth
right before fall.
The play-station's one of his favorites,
and Pepsi is a must.
You could lend him a lot of money;
because you have his trust.
I love him and don't know why
and hope he knows that I too.
Without the thought about him,
I don't know what I'd do.
