Your smile tells more tales than a 10-dollar psychic

And I know that love is your target

But the dart you grasp is shy of sharp

And a little limp for my liking

There's still not a problem

Your camera shy but still the star

But I hope you know that fame fades and wears in time

Kind of like that one pair of jeans that you sport so much

You know, the ones that visit every boys apartment floor when its 15 after four



Your axels nothing scant of dazzling

But this judge's vote is partial

Inclined because the gaze in your eyes plays soiled tricks on his



I wish I could plant a bomb under the backseat of your car

I'd set the time with such precision

It'd explode before the next boy does inside of you

Because being filled with joy just ain't your passion love

It's not your passion love, its not



If I knew you were listening, I'd pitch out one last verse in respect to you

But I'm not one that charts the good luck trophies on the shelf

And neither is the player that spins this record