On what he has to do,
To keep doing what brings him the most joy,
When distracted by you?
You who puts road blocks at every turn,
Not that you really care,
It's just some unhappy humans' fate,
To prance so blissfully into your snare,
Like when you hoisted upon me your love,
The attention kept me,
From reaching love out to the world beyond,
The confines of that theme,
Which still worked out,
For who does not want love?
Even those who've only heard about it,
Know it as a blistery-cold day's glove.
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