Why does your hair insist to hide behind that putrid color?

Liberate it! The guitar swoons for you, lovely, it weeps for you!

My hand creeps ever closer to your locks, as if to tear away your fa├žade;

What would you do if I fulfilled my fantasy? Too shocking for you to believe,

You would ignore me. As you have done, except for August of 2005.

Or was it the early September? When your hair was still GOLD,

When my life and everyone's life was more simple and more trivial,

My corpulence neither at its height nor its lowest point.

How I wanted to befriend you! Alas, I am resigned to alternate history,

Forbidden flights of fantastic fancy. Did I love you?