If I could write as well as Wendy I’d be happy.
I’d take any kind of torment on the chin.
Even if both my eyes went completely blurry
I’d write and write and never lose my grin.
If my feet fell off in the middle of a storm.
Or my nerves were taken out and shot at dawn.
As long as I could write as well as Wendy
I’d never have a cause to be forlorn.
But there’s one thing I don’t want to have to suffer.
It’s you saying you don’t love me anymore.
I could cope with never matching Wendy’s style
As long as what I write will make you smile.