Love most have died centuries ago She died with Juliet and Romeo Now her bones lay dust infested Romeo's to the left Juliet's to the right. Wishing they discussed, Try to figure out how it all turned sour.
If love is dead, Who or what are we then? Excavators, that's who we are Digging furiously, who cares how far The grave of the duo love birds must be near Find it, find love at its undiluted sphere.
Enveloped in this fantasies box Love becomes no more than a hoax Love is what it is A beautiful broken bike if you please Its too dangerous to ride Yet no choice but the ride So if you must, put on your safety gear.
Love does not live inside TVs Nor magazines She has left the internet and movies She now lives in the simplicity of you and I.
You may have looked too hard Yet you still can't find. This you must figure out You are looking in the wrong sites.