I haven't written for you yet,
That doesn't mean I would regret,
A chance for me to look about,
Probe your mind- figure you out.
I'm not saying that we'll date,
Odds are we won't procreate,
Maybe a kiss, maybe more,
Who knows what there is in store?
But I like leaving things to chance,
And with Bacardi, I can dance,
With some more, hell- I can sing,
And whisk off to some petty fling,
That's all I want, a shallow tryst,
To plunge my soul into the mist,
To purge my body of it's pain,
And hope I won't see you again.