I'm not sure what to write.

Sometimes you make my heart skip.
And we reach out and touch and it's like
Children to outlets, and flames from a match.
You always fall asleep before I do.
I'd tell you why, but these days
Avoiding being burned is so much more manifesto
Than the joy of singing my favorite sad songs.
You don't know them, but I do.
I love to sing along.
But I'm calling them coy and
I'm calling them cattle and
I'm trying to take them to the backyard,
Six bullets to the head and I will be out of harm.
Just so I won't need to know the melody,
Just so I won't need to know those sad songs anymore.
I can't quite throw caution to the wind;
It's got pretty decorations and if I hold on to it,
Maybe in a few years it'll be worth somethin'.
But here you are, and you're holding on to me.
Sometimes I'm so scared about my timing and delivery,
That I forget about patience for applause and recognition,
And focus more on retribution and condition.
But the more I ramble on, the more I think that...
I'd tell you more, but you always fall asleep before me.