Eccentric

I fear you are too much deceived in me
To find, as I now fear you do, some good
In what, I'm sure, is in reality
Great sinfulness, if it were understood.
The adoration that I give you should
Be properly directed otherwhere;
That's not to say, of course, I really could,
But that I ought to - and you ought to care.
The joy you find in my distracted stare
And how you claim to see in me what's best
Show that you think somehow my love is fair
Ignoring that great flaw that spoils the rest.
Yet as my love won't change, I find I'm glad
That you draw good from what in me is bad.