I saw your haircut in a storefront:   The choppy sides and perfect bangs.   I loved the way it framed the model's cheekbones,   The blank expression on her face.      So I went inside and tried to buy it,   But I got told it's not for sale.   I got embarrassed and I decked the sales clerk.   I stole the wig and ran like hell.      And I figured I would come and show you,   So I kept running towards your house;   Then I remembered I don't have your address   (At least not the one you live at now).      So I hurriedd home to get collected,   To let the red flush from my face.   I took out my notebook and I sketched you smiling.   I like to think of you that way.      Then I put your haircut in my closet   Next to your t-shirts and your cards.   I turned the lights out and I sunk in, slowly,   Counting sheep and breathing hard.      But when it comes it's way too quickly,   And it busts apart the faith I've grown:   See, I can't stop myself from hurting you,   So I guess I won't.