I Will Never Go Through

Blues to Pal

Oh, here I am, writing a poem to my pal, just thinking on the problems; oh, those are the blues we now have...
I'm settled on the sofa; listening the disagreement, spoken in the cellphone of my pal, thus I feel proud of being another one, who writes blues for his fart...

Why do we have to hear, why do we have to love? Do we have to have love, to a knife whose blade just cuts?
Oh, pal!, thinking I am, that you don't have the tongue! I'm so seriously "in hate" with you, your obnoxiousness starts when you walk through our door.

Oh, pal writing blues I am, to your obnoxiousness, enemy I am...
Oh pal, apart from my hypocrisy, your actions are worst than buggery, I think you're away from me... Pal, of your obnoxiousness, I am your enemy.