Love. Factually

You’ve read too many books

Idolised Mel Gibson’s looks

Played love songs by the dozen

Had a crush on your pretty cousin

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Romance is your middle name

And you thought you could ace that game

Making music with your eyes

Saving damsels was your prize

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Then the world changed overnight

While you were busy with your sword fight

And when you vanquished and you turned

To claim the honour you thought you’ve earned

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What you saw broke your balls

’Cause the lady stopped taking your calls

Love was honour when you placed your bet

But the game changed to slut roulette

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Now you don’t know what is what

The world runs on money and twat

Honourable you, drowning alone in the mix

Surrounded by an ocean full of dicks

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Poor sucker, you. Trapped and confused

Watching his ideals get groped and abused

And you try to think of ‘If’ by Kipling

Even as you hear love’s death knell ring

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Love’s a tee shirt. Love’s a key chain

Love’s a fucking four letter word flowing down the drain

Love’s a letter. That could have been better

If only people wrote. But they just want to get her

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Bullshit walks. And money talks

And the pussy is the prize in the game of cocks

So love’s now a museum piece. Just a fucking relic

Something you watch on TV. After coming home from being a prick

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Love’s a verb. And love’s a noun

It’s something now for the circus clown

Love’s a show. It’s now a roadside skit

Where audiences are drawn in with the flash of a tit

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The chemistry of love is hydrochloric cynicism

The philosophy of love is now the kamasutra ism

The subject of love is now all in tatters

The economics of it is what really matters

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Love’s days are numbered. It’s nights are bright though

The everlasting love song is now the moaning of a whore

The last love song was sung a long time back

The stage is now empty. The theatre under attack

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The lights are dimmed out. There are ghosts in the crowd

Love’s now on auction. And the highest bidder’s proud

He will be taking her home. And fucking love’s brains out

That’s love. Factually. There really is no doubt

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But sometimes during dusk. And sometimes during dawn

When the sky is bleeding tears. And the darkness isn’t torn

There emerges a lady. The one we once knew as Love

Pale and emaciated. But undoubtedly a cut above

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She looks around herself. Hollow eyes searching

For men not on sale. Those not grabbing and lurching

For men that know honour. For men that are steady

For men for whom love means a whole lot already

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For men that would kill. For men that would die

For men who would rather swing on a rope than lie

For men that aren’t afraid to stand for a cause

To protect and to defend. To fight without a pause

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She searches for these men. She searches high and low

She wades through the crowds of easy come, easy go

And she doesn’t give up. She never accepts defeat

Even though every time, she returns alone on blistered feet

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For her, love is everything. A talisman. A token

What holds it all together. When the whole world’s broken

And till the time Time’s alive. And the world turns once more

Love can be found looking for love. Kept alive in some djinn’s lore

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