Oh, don't.

I'd write about Montreat, but I'm going BACK tomorrow to visit Brittany.
Later I'm sure I'll write about it all at once.

Maybe.

Possibly.

...hopefully.


That means no
where I come from.
I am cold, out waiting for the day to come.

I chew my lips and I scratch my nose,
feels so good to be a rose.

Oh don't, don't you lift me up.
Like I'm that shy, no no no no no,
just give it up.