My fears

You scare me when you say I'm young,
it's just two years.
But that's not the worst of my fears.

How I wish I could take your tears,
reduce them to ashes.
hit all the morons that made you feel this way,
with a couple of bashes.

When I'm eighty,
you'll be eighty-two,
and I'll love just as if you were new.

You said you're not attractive.
I think your fine.
That smile of yours I wish was mine.

Oh, how you scare me,
when all I want for you,
is to be happy too.