To have that terrible urge
That horrible, grotesque thing
That feeling we wish to purge,
But we do not push, we cling.

It's that wonderful squeeze
Of his hands in yours
That tiny viral disease
We hear of in legends and lores.

Whispers of little white lies
We tell ourselves at night
One half loves, one denies
Warm in joy, cold in fright.

His wicked love devours
All your morals, all your cares
His crooked smile empowers
Warmth like poison, it ensnares.

Here, it whips you from clear eyes
And it blinds you of the truth
All decisions, it decides
Made of confidence, of uncouth.

You fall victim, you fall ill
Endless falling here and there.
Still you tumble down that hill,
You are taken, *love beware!