Pity poison, pity party,
pity is pretty ****** off
at your Pompadour proposition,
your parcel proposal!
O, a cardboard box,
the symbol of the distance crossed
and darker shadows to bright love lost.
What a world of merriment their melody foretells
as you shake them like little silver bells.
Go to hell.
Car chase scenes excite you; sit tight, you,
as your flight from fight reunites you with
the boy who never knew
what you are.
You are jelly in a jam, so your ham-fisted attitude
leads the lamb of love to slaughter;
the s leads laughter on, standing for *** (check male or female),
stimulation, stimulant, squabble, **** **** sext--
a wrecked relationship sinking, sinking,
and being nearer, my ******* God, to thee
makes me sick between my bones
but the iceberg of your persistence has to melt,
even with a bit of red paint.
Your dainty hopes that you could go
two for two with hearts and minds
not only disgust, but your lust broke my trust
and I must, must, must ring the bells.
Class dismissed. I hope you've learned.