Mrs. Brightside

I just want to be your Miss Atomic Bomb

Making your life hell when necessary and when not

But being the angel that pulls you from all else

I want to be Catherine’s hair

Surrounding us and keeping us separate from the world

That we live in that has caused us so much pain

I want to be your rose

That protrudes from the thorns and the stops and the breaks

And the crisp winter that kills everything else won’t kill me

Even if you are the snow

I want to be yours

In sickness and in health

In pleasure and in pain

I don’t want to be separate from you again