I Still Want to Stomp on Your Face, Motherfucker

Marching you down to the zoo

And feeding you to the yak

Carving my name in your chest

And tying you up in a sack

Feeding you mistletoe jelly

Lighting your bed with fire

Tipping you out of a sixth story window

Wrapping your neck in barb wire

 

You ask me, “What could it mean?”

And I say, it must be love

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