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