I would sit on the back
Of my little red Pontiac
And sing you bluesy love songs
And strum on an old guitar
And ask you to join me in the back of my car.
But never mind.
I'm not musically inclined.
I think if I ever tried
A stunt like that I would die.

It's like falling into a giant can of black paint.
You can't really see what you're getting yourself into.
You just have to trust that ******, pulsating mess in the left side of your chest and your ability to swim. Most importantly your ability to swim.

The moon was so bright it was as bright as the moon.
The stars looked as radiant as stars in the sky.
You were next to me, and it felt as if you were near me.
And we held hands till they cramped up and were crippled for life.
This is so unromantic it's not romantic at all.
And it's not very poetic, it's not even poetry.
We were lying there under the trees...
Trees,
Swaying in the wind like my thoughts about butts.