I picked a bushel of roses,
Not caring about there thorns,
Because what they compose is,
Doesn't even bother to warn,
I skipped to my lover's house,
Feeling tingly and warm,
Singing like a grouse,
My tone up-beat and lovely,
Until I came across,
The pretty little window,
Unwhich my love dossed,
Another girl is what I saw,
My heart seemed to tear apart,
Alas,had dropped my jaw,
But insead of crying,I did my part,
And slowly walked away,
If I truly loved him,I'd let him go,
He was better off without me,anyway,
I didn't deserve him,but I felt as though,
I needed this beautiful drug,
This drug,
Called love.
L'amour est horrible.
