I am devoid of love throwing down my glove,
and Walking out of the building talking to myself,
looking like an angry elf.
We had talked of it, being the end of it for many a time, which was quite a crime.
If only we had not been quite so mad and sad.
For a silly reason in the hunting season, I’m walking away from reason,
looking like a mason with out reason.
Love shoves those, with weak hearts, with darts like tarts.
The darts are done with smarts.
My heart harks with harps, just to get darts.
I have a pain in brain, because you’re in my vein like a cane.
If only I had a white dove with new love gloves,
I would not mock a lock, to protect with respect, my love glove.