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Lover's Quarrel
What game is this?
Is someone winning?
I can't tell, my head's still spinning.
All the spit balls thrown and juvenile insults,
We should be ashamed to call ourselves adults.
Your shoulder's so cold, it's turned to ice.
My looks are so dirty, we might have lice.
Who's more stubborn? You or I?
We'll know that when one starts to cry.
