My mad love
makes it rain coffee indoors,
right into her cup
cos she say so and it do...
cos it likes her lips.
Hell yeah, Bo Peep,
My mad love catch a blue jay, scold him good...
wraps deep night around a bell;
wears hand-stitched western boots
and's going straight to hell.
Don't say a word if she
lays pearly stones across the road,
or sits beneath the moon
to count the thorns upon the rose...
My mad love sigh,
and ruin me bad, half past first light...
I'm weak for
crow tar gypsy eyes,
sweet-gone with dark delight.
( written with a little assist from Coal Black! )