You may not know my name,
But I was the witness on the ballot.

Killing fields in Texas are no place for a pull over love affair,
Even if you're thinking about voting for the Zodiac Killer in this election.
Velvet skin against corn husks that look like the birds nesting on Trump's head -
It's no wonder they're so painful, but it doesn't hurt as much when you're loving a man who has more experience than Bernie has years;
No one has to know about this, baby, just as long as you promise to always love me and never send me any emails.

We all dance to the beat of a drum.
Our rhythm of life.
The sound, the pattern...
pounding within our chest.

We live,
we breath,

Spending our whole life,
looking for a certain cadence.
A beat to match our pulse.
It isn't until our hearts merge
that the pattern turns into a song.

A measure of first love,
the tempo of a kiss.
Flowing together in a musical harmony.

We dance,

Whistling together,
the sweet tune of ours.
A movement of passion,
the melody of marriage.

and we die

Changed forever,
as the song fades out.
Our souls made music together.
One, epic ballot.