Some say that love is like a statement,
And some say that Love's a burden,
Some say it's a bird,
And some say that's dissonance,
Some say it makes the world go round,
And some say it makes the stars go down;
And when I ask my fellow next-door,
Pretend that he knew well,
With all his knew for many he knew had he,
The man next Sevier he can foretell,
I knew him well,
And every truant knew;
Does it tendu like rain?
Or tis with perfection?
Does it whip boom! like a military band?
Or does it odour smell comforting?
Could one give first-step imitation?
Or give a brief thought of meditation,
In that of his small head with brain embedded?
Does it look like pizza piano stuff?
Or is it singing Melody with wondrous?
Does it only like worth stuff?
Or will it stop when one want to be quiet any time of duff?
O' tell me the truth about love.

When a man aware in early age,
That he can foretell as much sage.,
Does it plough, toil! in the heart of man?
Or does it figures out bold expression?
Does it spend all it time at races?
Can it pull forby faces?
Does it glim! glim! does it swing?
Or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views about it own money?
Or has it views even the penny?
Does it imagine patriotism enough?
Are its stories debased but funny?
O' tell me the truth about love.

Suppose all the lions get up and go?
And all the brooks and soldiers run away?
And perhaps the roses stood-up and grow?
When it come to stay, will it come without warning?
Just as I'm picking my lip?
Will it dance to knock on my door in early winter?
Or treads with snow-ice in my cone-hat ?
Will it come like a change in weather?
Just like the Autumn?
Will its greeting be humble or rough?
Will it endeavor a alter altogether?
O' tell me the truth about love.