All is vanity

You show so much, but still remain a mystery.

I used to know the shape of your vanity--the weight of your obsession--but I sold it too short. Too much could never be enough when city noise cuts off progress, but I hate the way you dress and the colour of your eyes up against the horizon line.

When the sunset moves from hilltops to skyscrapers, it's too apparent that we're not together. Those ten minutes could be bliss if it was all we needed to live, but you still have your center stage dreams. You're raising the temperature 100 degrees while I'm chasing ivory keys... (do you think about it? do you think of me?)

The acoustic hanging in the air won't get us back to anywhere, but where do we belong? Locked inside a compromise; a systematic complication (flirting with my irritation). If I could play it off as an easy mistake you could call me a liar with every breath that you take. You said you would have stayed away if only you knew, if only you knew I'd understand the way I do.
But I'm begging you to listen. To hear.

I need you to believe in me when my face burns and stomach turns and my voice can't help but shake.

Brooklyn keeps you standing still, but it's only a test of will. Will I really love you? Best wishes, I do, but I'd tear you apart with these matters of the heart, and baby . . . that's not what I choose.