Upon the question always poised, "what is love?" Caught in a tug and war of battles defeated. I shall now remain seated. Stationary I am to this illness of imbalance chemistry.
And so you sit and you ponder the questions of your heart. What am I to do? If you push and I pull, will we come to meet within the between of the allure that we both may still possess? For I'm a little frightful for saying a little too much that would make you all of a sudden become out of touch. And so I sit idle and blue awaiting for what false meaning may prove to be true.
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