I still get butterflies from he
who made me lose my wings;
Broke me, yet I'm broken
because life without thee stings.

I still get all the flutters
My stomach full of knots;
He may have broke my heart
But my love, for he did not.

If love were a game of war
I'd be his one and only;
He who feels like home
But home can be "oh so lonely".

Hate cannot be worn by he
No matter how much he gives it;
Cos' love may be the worst of trips
I've wish I'd nevered visit.
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