I hate to fight you,
When it's just for fun
We spitfire insults,
But it's all my game
The web I've spun you into,
Only brings me pain.
I wish I didn't fight you,
When it was just for fun

I hate to hurt you,
When I really don't hurt you.
I hate my shallow games,
Of playing the dozens.
Yet here I stand, hating and hurt,
And bring it out on you,
"After all," you say, "we're both kinda bored."
I loathe when I feel angry,
Over a fight that was entertainment.
You know it's play, as do I.
We talked about it before we started,
We both laid down the rules.

So why does it hurt,
When I call you a smoker?
Why then, do I hurt when,
"You say that like it's a bad thing"
Because it is? Because my insults are the truth?
I detest when I'm right, during the middle of this thing.
I know you think I'm fibbing
When I say "cause you can't"
Does that make me hurt? The realism?
Your father, my mother, on it goes,
But we both play by the rules.
Why? You know it's real words,
Me too, so why do we hurt?

I hate how we're children,
Blind to what's not there,
But still in quite plain view.
I'm hurting as I tell you
How very weak you are
And I'm hurting as I tell you
How over my game is.

I hate how you don't accept it...
How you seem to think you're forever...
But you fade...
And me too...
Just because we hurt...

Sorry John...it's not a game now...