All lovers are hopeless romantics,
Their feelings are physical needs.
They live in a world of vile tricks,
Illusions and meaningless deeds.
All lovers are gullible victims
And captives of friable sands.
They're cursed with abundance of sick dreams,
Those obliterate their brains.
Their love is a terrible burden,
As well as a blessing of God,
That's known as a ravishing bowman
With plagued and unholy black blood.
Of course you cannot die from loving,
Neither shall you be fully cured, -
Alas, this great feel is undying
And your heart will always be lured.