I'd write them in a long epic,
And sleep with it under my pillow at night
I'd hold you in my arms, like a true romantic
Whispering deadly secrets while I hold you tight
I'd draw them in the sand,
And let you gaze at it from afar
I'd tell it to a fire fly, resting in my hand
Then keep it locked safe, in an air tight jar
Because there are at least twelve thousands things I only wish
To tell you, only you
At least twelve thousand chances missed
Twelve thousand times I've wanted to be true
But only succeeded in my fantasy
So now, tonight, I'll give up the hope
Which is useless, now I see
Because twelve thousand secrets are hard to bare
But cross my heart, I will not mope
For this poem we'll always share
