My words don't mean much, but they exist.
I don't mean much either, just someone you might miss.
I'm just some guy, some guy that can write.
My words aren't inspiring, they're just alright.

I'm not so superstitious to try and wish at 11:11,
but I've got no miracles in the works, none soon enough to begin.
So I'll pick up ever penny on heads,
and I'll search for a four leaf clover in all the clover beds.

I'm a faulty model just off the shelf and into the world,
and like a ball, my heart will be hurled...

It's not time for being sarcastic,
if I give up, I might as well suffocate with plastic,
but I'll never reach out and grasp someone like you,
never someone like you...