A Ballad of Unfortunate Comparisons

I shouldn’t care if she has flair, or if her hair is curled.
I wouldn’t trade my dull and faded looks for all the world.
When I walk by, the boys don’t sigh and lean back in their chairs.
I shouldn’t care.

Her hips sway like a pendulum when she walks down the street,
They hypnotize the hungry eyes of everyone she meets.
And when she melts the hearts of all the boys who turn and stare,
I shouldn’t care.

Her eyelashes are long enough to brush against her cheek
She bats them up and down and pouts her lips out when she speaks.
And if those fiery lips inspire a scandalous affair,
I shouldn’t care.

I shouldn’t care what clothes she wears, or if her nails are done,
Because my nails are chipped and pale, and that is just as fun.
It shouldn’t matter next to her, that I don’t have a prayer –
I shouldn’t care.

No – never should I pay a mind to things like this, it’s true.
And yet I just can’t help myself – I shouldn’t, but I do!