On a scale of one to ten, you'd be about an eight

And friendship-wise, you're one of fourteen people I don't hate

Inside my mind you'd find a kind of love that's always true

But honestly, though you're still nice, I love me more than you

But don't you fret, because I reckon

That you come in as a close second

Sort of love you, kinda care

Maybe wish you weren't there

But that's okay, because I know

That though you're dumb and dull and slow

Eventually I'll sort of like you

Just until I want to fight you

Loving others is so hard

You kinda bore me, but here's a card.