Kills me in the thought of might.
For he makes her cry at the time of darkness,
And it makes me want to go upon his.
Throat and ungratefulness,
Which I'd be grateful if he'd be fed.
With the knowledge you have me babied with,
As for he needs it before I supply my wits within him.
Babble me from here,
For as I've heard it the last years.
That women aren't worth it most the time,
Unless I claim her to be mine.
Ali|Arbaaz
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