She'd say: You poet, you liar You truly will end up in hell You shall be burning in fire Cause poems are lies that you just tell Using nice words and metaphors Aiming to put me under spell
I'd say: Well, some of it came true I am burning, but with your love Softly tortured with your bright lights The poems for you are merely sighs Longing for you at sleepless nights
Thinking about you all the time Telling the truth, nothing to sell... You did put me under your spell! With hazy eyes that hypnotised Gently my mind, until I fell For you...
If poets' exaggerations are lies, the they are beautiful ones...