To her you're just a play thing; she'll make you out to be a king, then she'll set fire to your throne.

Some men call her cyanideFor she'll cause and take your pain.To others she's the devilOr the quest for true love's bane,And, to those less lucky,She's called their ball and chain.

So I'll be your queen if you'll be my king,My knight to defend my claimed heart.I need no crown, just your last name and a ringAnd the promise you'll never depart.

But, in the end, a kiss is just a kiss; I have no time for love, or seasoned lips.

They think thee mad? I'll show thou mad, my lord.

It's better to have loved and lost than never love at all - I doubt that sorry statement every time I fall.

But when you kiss me there's a spark, and I can't remember I'm only food to be consumed like an apple and not loved like a woman.

I mostly hope you think I miss you and in the end you hope you'll get me, but that's fantasy, untrue as you, and bitter as the hope you left me.

For if our bodies aren’t our own,And justice isn’t ours,And our love is just a sin,And voices by the peopleAre no longer for the people,What have we left to lose?

And everything I thought I knew - you made me trade it all for you...but, frankly, you're not worth it.