Can I help it, if I think you're beautiful?
If I love you, 
Must I spend my whole life being sorry?
When you smile, 
Something twists inside me.
Something fragile, so it ought to break
But doesn't.

Can I help it, if I think you're special?
If your name excites me,
Must I always try to hide it?
The cynic in me tries to squash it;
Dulls my voice, and makes me stiffen.
Makes my gaze see...

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