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Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #1710966
Sing about me...but just me.
If my name's not in the lyrics,
don't sing me any songs.
In all the love songs that you write,
is where my soul belongs.

If your darling cherry violin,
doesn't play for me,
you might as well put it away.
For me your song should be.

Every note
should be an ode,
to all the sky
that's in my eyes.
Every break,
early or late,
is for my star,
glimmering far.

The notes you make, the ones you play,
should be for me in every way.
And don't tell me I have no say,
you know you love me anyway.
So play. Play. Play.

I know I'm mean, I know I cry,
you know full well that I would die,
if your violin one day should lie,
and play no more for me, oh my...
Please play. Play. Play.

I know you want her name now,
to weave about your tune,
but can't you see that i'm right here,
I'm lit up by the moon.

Look at me, I'm inspiring,
look at me, and sing my name,
you can't simply forget me,
and live your life the same!

Every look,
I am a book,
that you can read,
your song can lead.
Every tear,
my every fear,
know what I said,
and it's my dread.

To you, I'm now invisible.
Didn't know my heart was divisible.

The notes you make, the ones you play,
no more for me, in any way.
although I know I have no say,
I know I love you anyway.
So play. Play. Play.

And I was mean, and I would cry,
you know full well that I can die,
for her the violin won't lie,
and you'll play no more for me, oh my...
Please play. Play. Play.

I'm sorry.
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