Fuck Ups

We’re perfect for each other
mutually self-destructive
I want to have your babies
shipped off to Antarctica
I’d lock us up in a room
with only a bottle of whiskey
and our mouths for shot glasses
The music you write is part country
part razor blades and heroin binges
Makes me want to live in your veins
suck my oxygen through your bubbling gasps
If this were the thirties
I’d be face first in empty pockets
and you would be fit for the cloth straps
but it’s a glorious new millennium
They say we’re rockstars and role models
I think of you when I’m too drunk to think
just fuck ups with locked vaults for hearts
Perfect for each other.