Is it the heights to which I fly
Or my smile that's so very shy
That make you love me?
Is it the subtlety of my wit
Or the steel in my grit
That make you love me?
Is it the cynicism of my views
Or my tendency to be obtuse
That make me unlovable?
Is it my Sundays spent at home
Or my disdain for all things chrome
That make me unlovable?
If I changed
Would I still be me?
And if I stay the same
Will I truly be free?
How unlovable can I be
And yet still be loved?
How lovable is the me they see
To yet remain so unloved?
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