it's been thirty-six straight hours and i'm still talking to you restless upon the airwaves and i haven't got a clue tongue tied teasing torture makes its way as we engage slightly, as our eyes contact, i read you like a page
and i don't know where it's wise to start but my chest feels like it is tearing apart and this growth is lumping inside my heart and i just want to be, i just want to be your moose
talk of fabrication when there's nothing left to hide with lofty compromising to be by your teeny side squeezing waistline squishy cuddles softly like marshmallows eager upon light laid air rest parts and huffing pillows
and i don't want to lead you astray and i surely don't want to misbehave but my feelings have bloomed and they're here to stay i just want to be, i just want to be your moose
coming on to you; my uselessness with your controls ripping out the wires that keep you complete and whole chomping, always romping, at the eagerness to please constricting my dry lungs which you intentionally seize
to reach for things which i should not strive notch upon my belt at what's been deprived yet the yearning keeps me online to thrive and i just want to be, i just want to be your
all washed out over washed up tide and my goal is gone through that lure in snide this is all just quackery suicide and i just want to be, i just want to be your