Poets are born with the gift of hate,
and they hate being awake all night long
thinking. Thinking about the girls they've met,
thinking about the words they've written...
They write the more, they live the less...
They write the more, they love the less...
Poets are born with the gift of loving
and they love loving the ilusion of love.
From loyalty... from follies... the poets faint in words
when they see themselves reflected in another's eyes.
Finally, poets turn into their poems.