when i sit myself down, pencil in hand,
there's only face that takes shape.
tchaikovsky playing, words in motion,
all i can think of is what you've said.
i've tried to let things come as they may,
but i can't stop trying to write you love songs.
sometimes i can't help but let some slip out,
and when i do, you light up, my little christmas tree.
my name never sounded fitting when said aloud,
but it seems so perfect when its from your mouth.
sink your eyes into my soul once again,
front row seats to the guard dropping down.
it's a delight to be sort of a mystery,
but i can't keep any secrets from you.
my barriers all break like porcelain,
my little christmas tree, you simply glisten.
when i lay myself down to rest,
i ponder of things i should be dreaming.
how silly to believe i could ever control it,
even my sleeping head thinks of you.