Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
Something like an engine fired by forward thrust.
Some call it hope, wrapped up in a dream.
But some cannot cope, or escape so it seems.

Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
Some call it our daily bread,
We tear off from the crust.
Some call it tinder, the kindling to combust,
The smouldering braziers in our head,
As if we are concussed.

Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
Some are appalled, other's quite unfussed.
Some call it fealty, when you have someone to trust.
Some call it faithfulness, while others are nonplussed.

Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
Some a wild emotion that never should be rushed.
Some call it a corrupting fashion,
To be so bound or trussed:
In sway to erupting passion,
At risk of being crushed.

Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
Some think it too absurd to ever be discussed.
Some call it the sweetest fancy,
We sprinkle with gold dust.
A treasure we measure with pleasure yet,
We dread when it goes bust.

Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
For some it's a mystery; others have it sussed.
For some it's a precious gift,
An assurance of fidelity.
For some the questions left to drift,
On the breath like viral malignancies.

Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
It's steely knife is cutting and yet it's prone to rust.
Some call it real life but subject to one's star,
Some at no small distance and some from near afar.

Some call it love. Some call it lust.❤️‍🔥
But whatever we may call it, we all must just adjust.
Some call it living. It is who we are.
It's all about the giving and the raising of the bar.