The boy threw his guitar down
And started beating his brow
No matter how hard he tried he couldnt justify
All the wasted time spent inventing words and rhyme
As the stars and the planets and the clock did lapse
You see making up songs is for losers
I should build something she uses
Like a box or a bed or cupboards or shelves
Songs are made of air they cant be of any use to her
Better off trying to catch falling aeroplanes
Then girl said boy dont be so stupid
boy dont be so daft
Youre not even right by half
And although you say your songs are fundamentally air
Theres also thousands of vibrations that stimulate the air
In such a way that whenever I hear them
They always make me smile they are just as tactile
As a box or a bed or cupboards or shelves
So boy now stop your moping your cursing and no hoping
And get back in the saddle
While she was still speaking towards his feet he was reaching
Where lay his guitar
His head was swimming in alphabet soup
Let it swirl his words formed in his heart
He said Im gonna build this song for us with four verses and a chorus
A real estate your words inspired
There we will live rent free and sleep on beds of melody
And leave the key change with the seasons
And so that song he built was hers with chorus and four verse
And she woke to find him finally asleep
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