Maybe, maybe.

You're more disappointing than a dead toothbrush,
at five in the morning.
And I'm more boring than being up at that time.
That's why we might get along.
Or get it all wrong.
Whatever the case,
could you sing me a song?
About the stars in the sky,
and how they're aligned single file.
Shooting into the black hole sun,
one,
by one.
Or is that too much to ask? 

One

Two