Some relationships are made on earth, on her basalt
I hate relationships given to me by gods gracious drunken halt
I am what I am, he made me, he set me free, then its me, not his call.
What met my eye, was flower which bloomed once in a millennia of all.
It was statistics that my eyes fell on the flower, and I am the creator of this soul.
Which idiot was bankrupt enough to conceive that love is made by god?
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