glare

And here's some fucking unidentifiable fucking mattress.
trying to tell you why someone doesn't like you.
Please don't bother.
It's simple:
It's because, “liking you disgusts me.”
Think about it from eight angles, too.

And for those of you who are particularly gifted, there are sixty-four positions,
so keep that in mind.
There are at least 64 answers to any question.
But they offer you their one,
along with a question that contains a false statement in the first place.
The naive cunning of mattresses is always so uncomplicated.
It's a trick of real blondes recolored as brunettes.

Ouija, again!
I'm begging you, please don't argue with an advertising bot,
It's not productive.
Are you insulted that a bot offers you his content for idiots?
First of all, he doesn't have any other content.
And two, there's a good chance he's right.
I mean, you're arguing with him.

And that tracer beam of his bounced off you,
And you let it happen.
Put some ash on yourself
so you don't glare so much from the artificial light.
Tell me, if I shine a light pointer,
Would you chase the spot of light like a little cat?

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)