Lover, to me, you are like real magic
And also yet like lucid logic
Abiding by exquisite ethic
Making me feel alive, beatific

My neurosis makes my words like bile
I understand if you find them vile
And if you want to run a mile
But I'll be sure to rue a while

Hope and Love are the truest feelings
All pray to them, in devotion, kneeling
Beneath their layers I am peeling
And am ashamed of the anger I'm always feeling