He's no more than a man Nothing special that you'd run to see He's a child to be sure, at times insecure But he pleases me. Oh when I'm in his arms And the last little star slowly dies I'm enchanted to be the me That I see in his eyes. He's a man, nothing more Sort of clumsy and absent of mind Not the kind of a beau I dreamed long ago That I would find. He's my lover, my friend What more could I ask him to be So in our little plot The mystery is what he sees in me. Why is it I never doubt him When I've known all along Now and then the very best of men must roam Sure I get lonely without him. But a man, right or wrong The more you bind him The less you'll find him home. He's no more than a man Just a weaver of wishes and dreams Very shy, he's mature The man he needs to be And he pleases me.
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