A friend who sits beside you,
Messages you to check you're OK,
Hand out advice like they're paid for it,
When they see something wrong they check you're ok,
But the therapy drives them insane,
And they sit up all night researching your problems,
Any tiny piece of information,
To make you feel better,
And staying up until the earlier hours,
Calming you reassuring you,
But they think too much about your problems,
And they think,
And over think,
Until your problems become theirs,
Because what if they lost you,
Or what if they dieted a little too,
Or what if they were thin and pretty like you,
And trying to make you see how fantastic you are,
Drives them round and round and round the bend,
Because if you can do it,
And still remain fine,
Why can't they,
Because they're a sham,
They know nothing,
Because soon they'll be the fatter one but you'll still have the problem,
And they keep thinking,
And they keep talking,
Gives up their time,
Gives up their well-being,
Because if they're your therapist,
Who will be there for them.
