Yeah, we fight a lot, Sometimes intendedly And sometimes seriously. But, the moment you hang up my call, I realize the pain of being hurt. I cry a lot, disturbing my thoughts, Still, everytime your love acts as the cure, To those wounds of yours. You are my punisher as well as my healer. Oh! the thought itself brings me chills, On the day you spare my wounds, I would be nothing but a soulless corpse, And love would sob in the deserted Thorp.