He is proud, arrogant, stubborn and tall.
My lord's armour is of leather, his visor of plastic,
When he speaks of me he is not lyrical but sarcastic;
And he will not be my saviour but my downfall.
My champion rides astride no stallion, but a motorbike!
His mysterious gaze would give me wings,
As he dares me to do the craziest things.
Yet why would he rather die than admit we're so alike?
We disagree on every fundamental issue,
At the end of each debate we shall start arguing anew.
Our battle is will to will and wit to wit.
For when he'll smile and whisper that he loves me,
His eyes kindling playfully and his face lit,
Why, that'll be the only matter on which we'll ever agree!
