I know she doesn't love you much
And not as strongly as I do,
For when she gave your hand a touch
I would have kissed your fingers too.

She's never noticed, I suppose,
That you like silver more than gold,
That you have freckles on your nose
And that your hands are always cold.

She doesn’t know your sister’s name
And puts much sugar in your tea.
Her eyes are guilt. Her lips are blame.
She has the half of love in me.

She looks at you, but never in,
Her kisses burn, but don’t comfort.
She feels the passion kept within,
But not your loneliness and hurt.

I wish you saw the things I see
When giving her another touch.
She may be prettier than me,
But still, she doesn’t love you much.