your butter flies

I don't know where to go. I don't know what to see. I don't care where to live or with who thee. I don't see what to eat and how to pee. I don't sing. I don't dance to be free. I don't like you. I don't like me. Baby, baby, baby, you are to she. You are to he. You are to the tree. Its high and mighty. It's low and behold. Its far and close, away and there. It's up and down. Across and over. Its in and out, around and about. It falls and breaks. It picks up and makes. Its upside down, and inside out. Its internal. Its a star's fish. It's an external dish. It's exothermic. It's diatomic. It's in you. It's in me. It's diabolic. It's devilish. It's fiendish, it's satanic, and it's demonic. It's hellish, infernal, evil, wicked, ungodly, and unholy. The bars are there. Its your evening folly. It's indirect. It's indiscretion. It's in direction. It's in possession. Its my only obsession.