I just had the exact same dream from years ago.
It's about loving at the wrong place, wrong time.
The heart's matter is never something I can forgo,
but I'm a saint, a living epitome, immensely sublime.
And loving you? Well, it will be the biggest sin of all.
And my soul's under duress right now: should I love?
It's as hurtful as banging my head on an invisible wall.
And I thought—I really did—it would be you, thereof.
And I think, therefore, I am; but, what about heart?
Should I just admire it and make it a memorabilia?
I loathe how I'm a human, how I'm not born smart.
Perhaps, by the end of my lifetime, I'd be Ophelia.
And my parents? They were lovesick bastards once.
But mistakes turn people wise, so they don't anymore.
I want to believe you're mine... God, I'm such a dunce.
Oh well, tales of unrequited love are a well-known lore.
And at the end, it'll just be a lesson of Oh-Wells:
About how blind love makes me an unwise being.
About how this repeated story will ring many bells.
About how loving you is something worth feeling.
But, now, I'm still an unwise man,
So, please, allow me to still love you firsthand.