Ohhhhhh (My Muse)

v1. Nobody's gonna write a novel about us, babe
And they'll never dog-ear pages filled with everything you say
But my hands are drenched in ink, though it smears and washes away,
I could recite it back; an epitaph in my mind, so carefully engraved
'Cause you're the poet, the parchment, the text
Although unpublished, it's been leather-bound, bookmarked, and reread

Ohhhhhh ohhh ohhh 
Ohhhhhh ohhh ohhh 

v2. Nobody's ever gonna see you the way I do
And they could never sketch a picture that accurately depicts you
Oil pastels will stain my clothes, but they're just artifacts from my youth
A protégé in finger paints, I'll illustrate the lengths that I will go to
But you're the sculptor, the figure, the clay
And I take pictures for my refrigerator display*

v3. Nobody's ever going to intercept our wavelength
And unfortunately, I've made it my preset, my secret place
My notes will stumble out along our frequency; will you reciprocate my serenade?
Oh we could be towers, and I'll broadcast all the louder when you claim we'll fade

'Cause you're a page-turner, a stick figure, a melody that lingers
And every time it's on the radio, I fucking blow the speakers
All I wanna know, is when you hear my voice, do you go
"Oh yeah, that's my song?"*