What would I do for one of your smiles?
Stand on my head, fall on my arse.
What would I do for a glimpse of those eyes?
I’d seal my lids open, walk barefoot for miles.
What would I do for odd touch of your hand?
Skin my legs raw and rub them with sand.
Well, maybe not quite – yet perhaps it’s just right.
What did I do for the sound of your voice?
I tortured myself by hearing your words.
What did I do to see your sweet face?
Tore out my heart, though I fear I’d no choice,
for truly it’s yours. I’ve only a space
where one used to be, one used to race
when you were near.