You don't need to bring their lives,
To my front door.
I've got my share of trouble and strife,
Without you doling out a little more.
I don't care what A thinks of B,
Or who the day's idiot is.
I certainly don't need to see,
Who C would like to kiss.
And FarmVille now *that* is a game,
I sincerely do abhor,
And when on it I see a friend's name,
I now know who I'll ignore.
No black sheep or friend imitations,
No fortune cookies or pink underwear,
No private, secret conversations,
That two people do to publicly share.
And worst of all: the stupid requests,
And all them damnable 'cause' invitations.
That make me feel like replying (no jest),
With rather indecent suggestions.
So our tryst has ended, you and I,
Shall never be the way we used to,
The high road shall now be mine,
And the low road you'd better get used to.
And if we should meet accidentally one day,
On some lonely internet widget,
It is only proper I warn you and say,
My attitude'll be cold if not frigid.
