I don’t want your pretty poems or your slow-motion sighs.

I wanna see the animal that’s hiding in your eyes.

You walk around in Sunday best, a gentleman-shaped lie,

But I can smell the smoke on you, the wolf beneath the tie.

You think you’ll hold my hand? Boy, I’ll break your holy plan.

I’m not a wife, I’m a warhead, and you’re the only man.

So come and bite me through the mattress, make the ceiling crack.

I wanna see you lose your cool and never bring it back!

I’m not your sweet salvation, I’m the riot in your lap.

So fucking marry me already — make the whole church clap!

Clap, bang — tongue-tied in a headlock.

Love me like a fistfight, baby, chew me up and then—

Your voice is gravel, mine is gasoline.

We’ll burn the suburbs down just to keep bedroom clean.