The Language Of Love

English is lame, so why bother?
All this trouble to learn the noise we know.
Our English will seldom ever grow
We all speak it but I wish I knew some other.
For now I speak my bro-ken English
But as for my wish?
French, Italian or Portuguese,
I will speak them as I please.
My romantic side complete,
The handsome made handsom-er.
Ladies, prepare for my wooing voice.
The things I would possess!
No teachers could protest
The words that come from the mind to the mouth
Upstairs to down south.
I could confuse you, surprise you,
You would have no knowledge of what I say.
The advantage that will come upon that wonderful day!
Think wonder, amazement, and awe
For when I speak fluently you will drop your jaw.
The way it sounds forever burned in memory
The romantic language will now spell me!





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