You kissed me like you meant it,
as if I was the firewood and you were the flame.
It seems we tried to set it a-light
each time we came together,
but there was only a little spark.
I thought something was wrong.

I soon found that I am the car running on empty,
and you are the loaded machine;
I am the wood, I am the fire,
and you are the gasoline.

You tried to set love on fire,
just so that you could enjoy the sparks.
The fun is over, and
Now I'm burned.

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