I think you’ve got a soul made out of gold,

Worn smooth as the pebbles along ocean roads,

Sometimes others can’t see it past your demeanor,

It’s clear to me when you wrap my hair ‘round your finger.

Broken records may be scratchy but they still make noise,

Maybe you’ve been hurt but your hidden beauty is a choice.

When I wake up in the future I’ll be beside you,

I’ll get up and make coffee in a French press in our room.

We’ll walk the city streets in search of fresh adventures,

And throw our middle fingers up when the locals call us sinners.

You think you’re a thorn but you’re really the whole rose,

I’m a thorn in your side and the scent of lilacs up your nose.