I've built a bomb shelter type crawl space for us to hunker down in when the world blows up.  If that isn't the ultimate proof of my love I don't know what is.

     Sure you'll end up pooping in a bucket and washing in recycled *** but **** it woman, you will be alive.

     You know how they say a person could get so hungry they would eat dog food. Well I left us mostly dog food. That way we can skip right to that sort of situation and experience it first hand.  If that isn't the ultimate act of love I don't know what is.

     You Know how you said you wouldn't have *** with me if I was the last man on earth? With only you and me in the bomb shelter, we'll have a chance to test that theory.  Besides, it might be up to us to repopulate the world so that's going to mean making babies which requires lots of ***. Sacrifices must be made. It's our duty. Count me in.

     I'll have to extract a pint of blood a week from you to feed the crickets. Later to grind them up as cricket meat. Cricket burgers, cricket burritos. We'll mix it with the dog food for a unique pate'.  Toss them in your mouth when snacking, like popcorn. And yes, crickets make noise but so did Beethoven.

     Plus it will be cold down there in the bomb shelter but blankets take up so much room there won't be many. We'll have to spoon at night to share our body heat. It only makes sense. To share our body heat. Spoon at night. Body heat...Oh yeah...

    Anyway, where was I? Oh right. So I dug you a bomb shelter to survive in, just in case the world goes kablooey. Maybe I'll even be the one who blows up the earth so we can be together. Now if that isn't the ultimate act of love I don't know what is.

Light is dripping from the ceiling
(looks like you don’t really care):
If you stay with me this evening,
I will be your teddybear.
I will tuck you in at night,
Make you feel that it’s alright.

Drumroll, bass, guitar and fiddle
(you’re as quiet as they get):
If you care to die a little,

I will be your cigarette.
At your lips I’ll burn and fly,
All in ashes, to the sky.

Men are smashed, somebody fainted
(you just look completely fine):
If, perhaps, you’d like to get it,
I will be your glass of wine.
Cheer you up when you are sad,
Tip your tongue with viscous red.

Now it’s closing time, the last call
(seems that you would like to leave):
If you fancy cheeky rascals,
I will be your rebel chief.
I will play both Stark and Blaine,
Conquer countries in your name.

Half-transparent, slim, and curly,
You have almost fled my sight:
If you need to get up early,
I will be your taxi ride.
Safely drop you by your door
Not expecting something more.