Cupid, draw back your bow. I couldn't believe that was the song I was listening to at five thirty in the morning at Starbucks.
Let your arrow fly straight to my lover's heart for me. Sometimes you can hear a song thousands of times and never really hear the words. Interesting how I never considered the possibility that Cupid is actually capable of sending his arrow soaring into someones chest. The guy can't even remember to put pants on. I always assumed his arrows were toys, with harmless little suction cups at the tips.
I guess it makes sense though. Give a chubby little exhibitionist a quiver and a little attention, put him in charge of love, and there you have it -- a recipe for disaster. Is it any wonder those of us with any semblance of intelligence try to avoid love at all costs? That arrow in the heart can really hurt, and it seems to always be aimed at women. Come to think of it, Sam Cooke sang all sorts of misogynistic lyrics: Cupid, draw back your bow (and kill the bitch); stand by your man (bitch, and while you're at it, get him a beer). Sam should have taken a stanza or two from Dionne Warwick's songbook. I'll never fall in love again. Forget the violence and the pain and the misery. Move on. There are far more harmless ways to spend your time.
Cupid can just take his arrows and, well, you know. If anything's gonna make me quiver these days, it's looking forward to another round of spider solitaire.
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