I saw you scratching words into the desk, while Mr Robinson wasn't looking.
Blond pony tail, you knew how to dance. I was too goofy to ask you teach me, therefore I'd have a reason to rub up against you. To question your questioning eyes.
Where did you get those scissors and hide them before Old man Robinson sees, he's got a screw loose and he will break something if he sees. If he sees you scratching up the desk, he'll kill you.
Anyhow I'm passing you this note, so that you can have my permission to humiliate me infront of the whole class. Because I want to kiss your face. I want to kiss your lips.
I'm sick of being young and coming up short. I want a young and wild girl like yourself to kiss and get lost in. I want to take you to the backfield, just to see if you won't let me in for just a time.
Share secrets, share silly young notions of love. Hold hands, touch.
Give me my 101 in romance as you probably have a better understanding.
Or even better let me sit closer to you in class. So that I might touch your hair, or at the very least warn you before our tyrant of a teacher catches you scratching words into the desk.
Somehow I could see your hostility, but it didn't put me off. I just put it down to that fighting spirit. Growing up in small towns must be torture for beautiful girls like you.
What a miracle it was to know you, in our small pathetic town where everyone judged everything.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário