The demon called love,
Cold as a Japanese sword,
Staunch as the Indian culture,
It was as primitive as the forces of van der wall,
The fear of losing,
The fear of even winning,
She had turned them into pawns, puppets,
At her beck and call,
They stood straightened,
Jumped higher,
Ran faster, swam across the snow,
They could make fish fly and watch the sharks walk,
Yes the Demon of love,
Crooked as a horror spread,
The splendid thought,
Yes it was love,
Squirm
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