We'll meet in the mud again.
We'll meet in the mud, my friend.
We'll meet in the mud again.
We'll meet in the mud, my friend.
The suburbs scored your darkest fantasies,
So, you begged me to escape, to flee.
Like a duo in the movies,
It's just you and me.
The clothes on our backs are all we know,
What will we see? Where will we go?
You say you know a spot stuck between the city and the sand,
A wooded land, where secrecy would thrive.
So, we escape the traffic,
And all things tragic.
The stars dictate the light,
Let the trees blanket our night.
Fan the flames, the fire works for us,
Oh, how romantic is this?
Strumming summer, acoustic.
The music won't last forever,
We know this.
But tangled up together,
Who cares?
Hunting dreams and berries,
I don't think I've ever been this happy.
Harmonicas and singalongs,
You write the most beautiful songs.
We escaped the traffic,
And all things tragic.
The stars dictated the light,
Let the trees blanket our night.
Fan the flames, the fire worked for us,
Oh, how romantic is this?
Strumming, autumn acoustic.
We'll meet in the mud again.
We'll meet in the mud, my friend.
We'll meet in the mud again.
We'll meet in the mud, my friend.
YOU ARE READING
Cut Throat Town
PoetryA poetry collection about being trapped in a small town, for all the good and all the bad that comes with it. "It would be cannibalism if it wasn't love." 💙
