A brain of grief runs through,
The quick beats are the telegraph,
The message is, “I love you”.
I will not say I do not love you,
For that would not be true,
But I will say that I love a boy,
And that dear boy is you.
I’ll meet you in the park
And I’ll kiss you in the dark.
Courting is a pleasure,
Loving is a grief,
A false hearted lover,
Is worse than a thief.
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