She loves me,
She loves me not, she loves me,
She loves me not,
She loves me,
It’s abstract to idealize one’s passion for us through the picking of a flower,
Do you ever wonder how much we give our lives to chance?
Like how flipping a coin can decide the next move in our lives,
Or how we can reveal If one has heart eyes for us through the plucking of a sunflower or lily or dandelion
How insignificant it may seem that love is being gifted to us through the idea of chancing it through a flower
She loves me, she loves me not,
She loves me, she loves me not
The rushing river ride of avoiding rocks
Just to not sink to the bottom and drown in the crescent river of love is a chance on its own,
We take a chance to court the ones we are interested in, in the name of love
We take a chance on loving them,
What if they sink our ships?
Will the flower we plucked wither away?
What if we sail down stream into a wonderful oasis of dreams and passion
Will more flowers grow in its wake?
She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me,
Oh, how chance becomes our greatest friend in the challenge of love.
Much like this flower, unaware of our destiny with the ones we love we pluck it, just trying to find out one truth
She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me she loves me not, she loves me