i havent the touch of a poet
i often find little to say
the map of my heart
it isnt high art
my palate a study in grey

you are the subject of sonnets
i havent the courage to write
its hard to convey
in my own simple way
just what i am feeling tonight

for mozart would sing you a love song
shakespeare would write you a play
but silly old me
i am clear up a tree
left here with nothing to say

well if suddenly genius should strike me
it wouldnt be any surprise
inspired by you
perhaps i could do
what da vinci would do with your eyes

oh what da vinci would do
what da vinci would do with your eyes