you make love claims and swear your oath
hands over an album cover
to you, a holy book

the problem with your love claims is that they wouldn't hold
in court, they couldn't stand a minute's scrutiny
and the prosecutor would get sad
and the defense attorney would fall ill
from all that sugar in her veins

the matter with your love claims is where
they come from
a place of safe plays, and pre-paid life
plans, and cashed in metaphors
hopes and dreams by the dozen, too

your claims of love aren't false, my dear
I know that much.
and though they have impressed the jury
They have simply failed, my dear
to impress me.