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Icicle
Your vows of eternal worship
Leave me strangely cold
As do your pledges of passion
As we both grow old.
It all sounds so very rehearsed.
Do you understand?
You strike no sweet chord within me,
Asking for my hand.
From the deep look into my eyes
(As I bite my lip)
To the new tremble in your voice
(Have you had a nip?)
The whole thing just isn't working.
It seems farcical,
So get up off your bony knee.
I'm an icicle.
