Sad songs say so much

So I've found two really good potential First Dance songs.

One of them is about a guy (we'll call him "Sting") who loses someone to another guy and then spends the whole song trying to convince that someone to come back to him. As I sat on the subway yesterday, listening to it for the fiftieth time and trying to figure out how awkward it might look if I put my (6'3") head on M.'s (5'7") shoulder, I decided that despite the fact that it's not so much about two people in love as it is about one person in love, at least it's a pretty song and people probably wouldn't listen to the lyrics anyway. Then I started listening to the lyrics and heard Sting ask his here-to-for-gender-neutral someone to come and be his wife, and then I pictured everyone as they stopped laughing at me hunched over M.'s shoulder to wonder which one of us was the wife.

The other one is about a girl (let's use "Des'ree") who just keeps singing over and over and over about kissing her Significant Friend, but in a really beautiful and haunting and romantic way. The problem with this one is that it's from Romeo + Juliet, and I can't get it out of my head that maybe she's singing to her dead lover or someone. Especially when she stops repeating Kissing you kissing you kissing you and switches to Where are you where are you where are you. Also, I can't stop clenching my jaw in dreadful anticipation of her forgetting which song she's singing and instead telling her dead lover that he's gotta be bad, he's gotta be bold, he's gotta be wiser, he's gotta be cool, he's gotta be calm, he's gotta stay together.

So basically, the only First Dance love songs I seem to like are the sad ones whose lyrics I would have to try and get everyone to not listen to, or the ones about wives or dead people. This may be explained by the fact that people tend to write love songs - the good ones, anyway - more when they're yearning for love, as opposed to when they've found the love.

There's also the acoustic version of Keep on Lovin' You that I still have yet to find.

All of this is, of course, predicated on the off-chance that M. will even want to have a First Dance, the chances of which may be slightly on par with my head reaching M.'s shoulder.