There’s a bomb
In my pocket
In my brain
In my locket

It’s made
Of citron and pepper
To those who don’t ache
It might just hurt

Residues in her face
I see it burn
I see it grimace
I see disdain

Sometimes people like burning
Maybe they own
some bombs of their own
They can’t help but carry

Sometimes people hate citric
Maybe they haven’t ever
Ticked
They’re so used to sweet

But with you I see them burn
They don’t care to control
You don’t care
to dodge

Maybe there are antibodies
And you don’t feel the sting
When you just happen
To cry acid

Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.

Do you like me because
I'm the only one who listens to you?
Do you like me because
I'm the only one that stays when you're sad?
Do you like me because
Only I won't judge what's inside your head?

Do you like me because
I will listen while you talk trash?

Or do you not like me
And "like me"
Just because I happen to be there?