Whatever You Call It

I'll furtively fabricate the tragic end of your long lead romance but I'll fail in pushing you out of love.
But she'll leave with no regret for her destiny has been set
With a man in Spain
And mine with the man I manifested from the smoke of my lucky cigarette.

He waits in his room for a women that's no longer interested in playing games.
I think I am in love with him even if he doesn't mind ignoring my longing.
I beg of him to let me be the silver lining left in her dust...
But broken hearts aren't mended by second bananas
And beauty doesn't arrive over night.

Perhaps some lonely night when he wants to feel wanted and my physical being decides to be haunted by Another hit it and quit it or whatever you call it.
That night he'll be mine.