You are like my ex.
The one who is good till he's bad.
We have good times together;
Yet, even from far away you are dangerous.
You are like butterflies in my stomach.
When I see you,
You don't flutter from excitement,
You rumble with distress.
You are like a tradition.
Not like say,
Opening presents on Christmas:
No, you are more outdated and confusing than that.
You are like a drug.
You can save many lives with one dose,
Or bring a life to an end with one too many doses:
It just depends on whose hands you end up in.
We don't want to let go of our ex.
We know there are the good butterflies and the bad ones.
We wouldn't throw away a tradition without thinking twice.
We don't want just anyone to have access to drugs.
Like all of those:
You can be good in moderation.
You can be good in the right hands.
You just lack control.