I don’t like the way I look in the mirror
I don’t like the way I feel
I don’t like the pressure and the fear
Inside the city, the churning wheel
I don’t know if I can bare another
Loss of the rare and lovely hand
Still I’m losing sleep for the flower
Somewhere buried in the sand
I searched the fruitless dunes
Sun and vacant moon
When all the while
She was in a field near by
I wasted all my chances
On hopeless romances
Could have tasted her advances
When I had the chance
So now I’m left with this confusion
This romantic disillusion
Ideal interaction
Is never illusion
