West Cliff

[this one is for the voice]

Blue eyes, smile like mine and
I'm having a hard time
with words that rhyme
but I bet you'd never guess so many are my type
Long hair, guitar, a bike
I don't gotta be a dyke yet
there are still so many
fish in the Pacific,
swallows in the field they
all fly up when I walk by in my heels from
Manhattan, the black is scraped off from the city streets
I feel fine in Times Square the motherfuckin' place to be
knowin' millions would kill to feel this summertime heat
you don't like the rain well 5 bucks got it beat
say hello to the masses find someone to greet,
hey hey look at me looking fine at 5 feet.
So don't get superior with your 2 inch head start,
at least I show my heart without playing a part,
at least I can pretend I don't still have dreams
obscene with their optimistic sunny hopes & scenes
fucking up but with luck like in a romantic comedy,
when in reality I pray for his eyes to register me.
'Cause when he plays I die and am reborn a different me,
minus some self-confidence plus a desperate ability
to stand at the stop signs and pretend the cars are stopped for me,
to smile with my teeth closed and to pretend it shows sincerity.
But fabrications of strangers and friends-turned-strangers aren't reality,
inadequacies,
a million stories I won't know.
And when I want to point and look who do I have but you to show?