Heavens must be smiling to me, oooh love, like the graceful moves of a talented dancer, I must have  touched God when I kissed a stranger on the staircase, could birds and feathers be a  soft way of talking about love? Or should we  consider butterflies beauties in fear of love, or the gut the guru of secrets of love and fear, but that's just a lustful heart, wishful hopes for an angel up above to smile down on me, but all I get is empty pockets from a beautiful, deceitful, magical stranger who just disappeared.