it must be the madness

Standing here underneath your window,
Searching for some kind of sign.
Every move, every tiny gesture,
Only proves you’re not mine.
I could write you a thousand love songs,
Search the world for the perfect tune and rhyme,
But what good would when it seems I’m out of time?

If I told you,
All the words I’ve yet to say,
Would they matter,
Or would you simply turn and walk away?
If I hold you,
Would you tell me I should go?
Do I chance it,
Or would it just be better not to know?