if you are not loved as you want to, — blame it on me if you miss fame, fortune, money, power, — blame it on me if the sex isn't as much as you'd wish, — blame it on me if you have nothing to drink or to eat, — blame it on me if you lost your soul, you still got time to blame it on me to any problem you might have it, go on, — blame it on me i'm here for any of your complaints, — so blame it on me after all, it was my mission to do my best, me, to be blamed, — you, to be happy, — (once… at least…)

the structure of reality, a mystery of each day, the right way doesn't exist for orange isn't a color just the perfume of her skin spread with his fingers for his mouth is occupied to complain about the silhouette of her lips, playful visitors kissing a some French 75 instead salut, welcome, let's go

Oh, my dear Lord, — I feel as if I'd spun myself around you so many times that even you got dizzy in your high ego with the princely attitudes scattered everywhere in your hellish trying you do you me with your voodoo qualified in endurance and absurdity to devour me like you move with it in it

let me put it this way, (show you how), my thoughts are irreplaceable bijoux penned on your earlobe, take a look at you, as always, will kiss them (deeply), like a go-getter to listen to their poem adorned in love's attire i wear for you‥