On Sharing Love
Screw the fate that makes you share a love.
One cuddles under cotton cloths; the other's love.
Every now and then, well, maybe or maybe not,
once or twice a year, oh, it's like something.
You try to love to it like a fly on flowers
but the flowers is rotten. You love like the flowers,
but pay. If I had known how it would go
I think I would not have lived without you.
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