He's no more than a man
Nothing special that you'd run to see
He's a child to be sure, at times insecure
But he pleases me.
Oh when I'm in his arms
And the last little star slowly dies
I'm enchanted to be the me
That I see in his eyes.
He's a man, nothing more
Sort of clumsy and absent of mind
Not the kind of a beau I dreamed long ago
That I would find.
He's my lover, my friend
What more could I ask him to be
So in our little plot
The mystery is what he sees in me.
Why is it I never doubt him
When I've known all along
Now and then the very best of men must roam
Sure I get lonely without him.
But a man, right or wrong
The more you bind him
The less you'll find him home.
He's no more than a man
Just a weaver of wishes and dreams
Very shy, he's mature
The man he needs to be
And he pleases me.
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