You think you’re so cool,
With your Rambo pants and hipster hat on
Smiling secrets at me
Don’t think for a minute
You have a hold on me
I know you’re playing me like a guitar,
Strumming me up, pulling my strings,
Leaving me on the high note,
I won’t give in to you
So stop picking at me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem