by Mary Lee Jones
I don't know how much more I can take;
we quarrel, we fight, and loving you must be a mistake.
I've tried, I've cried, and even turned the other cheek;
you'll say "sorry" and it starts again before one week.
Like a yo-yo you play with emotions and it's starting to suck;
you push me down, stomp on me, then pull me back up.
You promised a good life with and laughter galore;
but broken and empty promises is no way to score.
I trusted too much and gave you all of what I could;
but in a bed of roses six feet under is now where I stood.