I wake up to the smell of burnt biscuits again. It’s that "je ne sais quoi" beauty you can’t touch, cause it might burn your hand. I roll around, finally rise, cause sleep is much too grim.
Bacon, eggs, chorizo, coffee black as sin.

You notice I don’t touch the burnt offering that you give. When I catch your eye, I choke one down, and with a black tooth grin...

*Hallelujah, can I have one more? I’ve been waiting all this time what ya holding back for? Yeah hallelujah can I have one more? You'd best treat me right before I walk out that door.

Since I got down on one knee you know we’ve never loved so strong. And the time between grows with our love, big and quite oblong. I know quality over quantity baby, it’s our love song. But practice makes perfect and the correlation’s never wrong.

I stand to attention my blood’s rushing like the river long, when you come in with nothing but a messy bun on.*