My love keeps a record of wrongs
Which it sneaks into your party playlist.
It recalls with frightening accuracy
Every broken promise and every line of every argument.
It turns your words against you
And puts you on trial before a jury of your peers.
It is scarred with every injury, with every wound that did not heal right,
And it despises your very eyes that look upon it
And know its deformity.
My love keeps a record of wrongs
And so my love
is not love.

My love is not patient.
It cannot wait to greet you in the morning.
It wakes you up at midnight
And runs ahead of you at the airport.
It is full of rage and temper
And finishes all your sentences.
My love is not patient
And so my love
is not love.

My love is not kind.
It sits heavy on your back and demands feeding round the clock.
It boasts all over town and takes pictures of you bathing.
It thinks only of itself, and rules your love with hidden laws.
When it fails, which it will,
It will leave you in the cold.
My love is not kind
And so my love
is not love.