Move on.

The forecast is empty dim, tomorrow will be a dismal frenzy.
And the weekend holiday will be as grey as boring can be.
Yes the colour of boring color of lonely the eyes of the poor.
The notion of hope now´s a fish hook that you seem to get your mouth caught on from time to time.

Give it up like I´ll give up on the illusion of meaning in my rhyme.
The eyes say "come ask me out tonight" both are lying like an arsonist without a light.
Give it over. Stop thinking about what might.
It´s all about her feeling worth it, and "oh my god the creep had the courage to ask me!"

Move on,
It's my balls not your pockets that are bulging.
And my car is not yours...
Care free style trying to hide the way I feel poor.
There's not that romance I would completely adore.
So thank god for the little, and for god´s sake just move on.