I make eyes at strangers, to stay in their head for three minutes
I can’t help but look back.
Yes, they could be a potential friend, but only in the same way my sperm stain could be a potential son.
What I need is courage, courage on the battlefield of love.
Oh, that word? Forget Owen and his gang,
That is it, the old lie.
Well, maybe we could make such a concept together, this perfect stranger and I!
But soon we’ll come to realise I’m just a moth vs. a butterfly, Branston’s vs. Heinz, the timid vs. the bold.
If eyes told the truth, I’m sure I’d have stopped long ago.
So, what can I do but wait for them?
They who has no party trick or childhood nickname,
who can’t sip macchiato in flaunted style or win the fight they really should’ve won.
I want to become acquainted with some aproned waitress
And make a daisy-chain to loop round her neck. I want to sit still
without hearing all this human noise.
Noise which I have no courage to silence with a yell:
‘Amore, amore…the old lie!’.