The practical, logical, psychoanalytical, scared ones
Often thoughts of 'what ifs' run amok, unruly and rampant
I mean, any thought could play in the mind's radio station
Often unscheduled, like a random emergency broadcast
Like some apocalyptic winter has suddenly reared its ugly ugly head
To unnerve us, make us choke, and yet wishing it was easier
The worriers like us cast good moments to ruin, always extrapolating
Running the numbers, of past encounters that have ended badly
Yet we never fail to fall in love, it is surprising, illogical
This feeling of wanting to be vulnerable, human, the whole shebang
We wander into it, wishing to be loved, this time maybe
We know how to love, we can feel, but we conceal it due fear
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