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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=513523" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tober</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=513523" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'I'm good at being bad', he said<br>I knew it all too well<br>For in the time I'd known him<br>He'd done nothing but rebel<br>Drugs were his pocket<br>A knife strapped to his belt<br>He'd kick your ass for nothing<br>Then he'd tell you 'Go to hell'<br>And the ladies? <br>Oh, they love him<br>Not because he's debonair<br>He chews them up and spits them out<br>Without the smallest care<br>And in the hours past midnight<br>Questioning what makes him tick<br>I'd tell myself I'm like him<br>But perhaps that makes me sick</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Sara+Fielder">Sara Fielder</a></strong></div>

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