It pains me to say it,
To voice it so loud,
To shush all the pretense,
And say, “Yeah, that’s right,”
I feel this for someone,
A flamed-fired romance,
But poor Mr. Wringer,
She just ain’t that witty,
I know it don’t matter,
The lovesick moron says,
That, "Look, once you get it,
Don’t ever let go,"
But how, tell me wisecrack,
Do you live with this,
Whom small talk is golden,
Kardashians are key,
When all that excites you,
Is Bierce Dovstosky,
And moonlight sonatas,
From age-old composers?
It hurts me I tell you,
Cause fine that she is,
But unlike that moron,
I plan ‘fore I hit,
And deep down it bites me,
It keeps me awake,
She’s cool but I won’t stoop,
To fall for a dimwit
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