Saturday, February 23, 2008

Love is a sickness that no doctor can explain. It tickles the heart and puzzles the brain

You're my survival; you're my living proof my love is alive and not dead. Tell me that we belong together; dress it up with the trappings of love. I'll be captivated; I'll hang from your lips instead of the gallows of heartache that hangs from above. I'll be your cryin' shoulder; I'll be love's suicide, I'll be better when I'm older; I'll be the greatest fan of your life

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