I read too much for comfort, Speak in references and quotes, But there you are in denim, Quiet hands, clean oat-straw coat. I watch the way you carry Buckets like you carry years. You glance but never linger. It fuels my quiet fears. You fix the barn door hinges, I fix typos in a brief. You mend things with your silence, I chase thoughts like falling leaves. Are you afraid to ask me? Or do you think I’m far? Somewhere out of reach and reason, Like I orbit a different star? I’m not as tangled as I seem, Not as lofty as my name. I ache for something honest, And you’re playing that quiet game. I’m not too sophisticated for you. Not stitched in silk, not hard to undo. I dance in my kitchen with no shoes, Waiting for a word, a move, a clue. No, I’m not too sophisticated for you. My bookshelf is a mountain, But I climb down every day. My words can build a fortress, But I wish you’d break your way. You say little but it echoes, In the hollows of my chest. Every “Morning” that you offer Sends my thoughts off on a quest. Does your silence mean contentment, Or a door that’s firmly closed? Are you holding back a feeling Or afraid of being exposed? I know I talk in spirals, And I read between each breath, But I wish you’d cross the gravel And not leave me guessing death. One step, two steps, turn and glance, I’m right here, don’t miss the chance. No lace gloves, no high demand, Just reach across with steady hands. No debate, no dissertation, Just your gaze and one translation. If you asked me to the grove, I’d show up in my cotton robe. I’m not too sophisticated for you. I’m stitched with warmth and morning dew. I laugh at cows, I burn my stew, And all I want is something true. No, I’m not too sophisticated for you. My mind keeps rolling thunder While your world is early mist. I sip my chai and wonder If it’s me you might have missed. The boots you wear say grounded, My heels say second guess. But I’d toss it all to Sunday If you’d just confess. Do you think I’m porcelain? Some high-priced art in glass? Or just another puzzle You’re too tired to pass? Well I’ve sat with broken theories, And I’ve danced through half-truths too. But you— you’re the stillest question I’ve ever wanted to pursue. Maybe I don’t pitch hay right, Or know the names of stars. But I know what aching sounds like When it hides behind guitar. I’m not too sophisticated for you. Not born of moonlight or royal hue. I trip on roots, I talk things through, But I see you clear, I really do. And I’m not too sophisticated for you. [Outro] If you never make a move, Still, I’ll bloom beneath your view. But if someday you say “Hey,” I might just stay… In muddy boots, With books askew— Still not too sophisticated… For you. ..
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