Its funny how often I pass right by and you neither glance nor stare.
You see my hair flow in the breeze, see the crimson on my cheeks,
and yet you continue, drinking your coffee, smoking your cigarette.
Staring towards the ballet across the street where fairytale beauties walk out,
and you and I both know that I'll never be anything like that.
The only sparkle I have is hazel eyes reflecting stars
and no fine dance will I ever spin for you.
But these hazel eyes will always see you as Prince Charming,
when the ballerinas are through.
And even though I know that when you're finished smoking,
you'll mosey back my way,
Sometimes I just want to say, please stop forgetting about me,
because I'm still here.