Love hurts, br It hurts to the core br When hands loosen the intimate clasp br And they turn poles apart br One rushing to the North br And the other, South. br br Love hurts, br It hurts to the core br When the bunch of withered roses br And thorns, leaves and stems br Gather dust on the window sill br Of a dishevelled house. br br Love hurts, br It hurts to the core br When they don't look eye to eye, br And Love is no more blind, br For a raging storm from nowhere takes over br The effeminate steam of br The wintry-morning cup of tea, br Over the bitter argument br Of perfect spoon of sugar, br To be or not to be added br To the flavour of real Indian tea. br br Love hurts, br It hurts to the core br For the waiting hurts me more.br br R.