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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.