Augustine, your hair has never been that smooth or clean
and honestly that shit has never meant a thing to me.
If you’re ever inclined to carve my eyes out with a butter knife, well, I’ll be fine.
If you ever decide to rip my heart out with your perfect smile, well, I’ll be fine.
Oh Augustine, move to New Hampshire and marry me.
We’ll laugh and scream, we’ll get divorced before you’re twenty three.
If you’re ever inclined to carve my eyes out with a butter knife, well, I’ll be fine.
If you ever decided to rip my heart out with your perfect smile, well, I’ll be fine.
I’ll probably die but that’s all right.