What Kills Me Makes Me Weaker

It kills me, makes me weak in the knee
To see how lovely you are knowing I cannot touch
To listen to you forge music with your fingertips
With each note I fall deeper under a hypnotic spell
If only I could openly express my forbidden titillation
But what good would come of my amorous confession?
Another broken heart followed by despair and self-loathing
I am a train that cannot exit its tracks, colliding with my destiny
Derailed with no destination where there is no boarding station
As your little red caboose sways on ties from side to side
My instrumental innervation fuels my engine's roar
Yet must hide in subway tunnels beneath my tingling skin
Circling through my recycling system of endless crimson flows
Contained in silent echoes voiced only in my trembling mind
Where a collapse is immanent as weakness infiltrates my will

I want so badly to ignore the rules written by misguided fools...