I read the books of a dead man,
And little did I know
That he lived right next-door to me,
And while he was alive,
I could've gone right over
And had tea with him
And talked about these things.

I am in love with his books
Because I see his heart shine through,
And maybe I would have been in love with him,
And maybe it's true,
That he could have loved the girl next-door,
And maybe he did.
I'll never know.

I wonder, tho, if I should go
And meet the new ones moving in,
The neighbors, that is.

-jenn