Now listen all of you, this is not a poem, I repeat this is not a poem. It’s just some random thinking from a love-sick brother, a very love sick one
I love love
It’s the only thing that makes you feel really free
Plus it takes you so high…
So high that you ask yourself,
Why have I been on that weed?
Why had I not spotted her soon enough?
And why don’t I look like that Brad Pitt fellow,
See he’s got that fine, pouty-lipped lady on his arm...
And he does it so easily; like breathing.
If only I could be that fellow;