In magical waters I once washed
A memory of us away, for, you see,
I was once dirty from what I squashed
And what I squashed was that bug called Love, a flea.
It bit and I itched, and I itched our
Marriage away, well, until it was raw, red
From friction and distorted guitar.
In magical waters, oh, we once were wed.
It’s ironic that you’re a rock star
And I’m a poet, because we’re both writers
But no one knows us or who we are.
Though, our bruises reveal that we’re both fighters.