Oh Indie Guy, I know you're out there,
with your collared shirt and stylish hair.
Oh how I long for you, my scruffy man,
With dark rimmed glasses and tender hands.
We'll sit and drink coffee and ponder our lives
while sharing an iPod and heavy "sex" eyes.
You'll be taller than me, with a penchant for sweaters
and i'll burn you cds while you write me long letters
from your crappy job on your break in the park.
About how when we're together, we'll watch movies in the dark.
We'll cuddle, hold hands, and wish we were brilliant.
And we'll bask in the solitue of our couchy concealment.
One day we'll cross paths, in a music store.
I'll be searching for "Give Up" while you try to find "Galore."