Words

I try to write my poetry
But what good are all words to me?
They say too little, or are such
That they tell you far too much!

'cause if I try to be too smart
They won't show a bit of heart
They will be cold and meaningless;
A fancy coat on emptiness.

But then again, if they run free
No secret will a secret be;
They will scream, and misbehave,
And tell you that it's you I crave!

Same as always

Of course I think of love anew;
The truth is that I always do.
But the times that it pay of are few
And why should this luck change with you?