Classic Poem

It's that old devil called love again,
Gets behind me, keeps giving me that shove again,
Putting rain in my eyes, tears in my dreams,
And rocks in my head.
It's that sly son-of-a-gun again,
He keeps telling me that I'm the lucky one again,
But I still have that rain, still have those tears,
And those rocks in my head.
Suppose I didn't stay—
Ran away, wouldn't play—
That devil, what a potion he would brew.
He'd follow me around, fill me up, tear me down,
Till I'd be so bewildered, I wouldn't know what to do.
Might as well give up the fight again,
I know darn well he'll convince me that he's right again.
When he sings that siren song, I just gotta tag along
With that old devil called love.