fast love, no brakes, just endless Belgium nights.
Leather hearts and switchblade dreams,
ripping seams at life's extremes.
What starts as a dive bar kiss,
turns into a runaway tune,
I'd be yours, you'd be mine, Brune.
But in this life, the clock won’t bend,
and the Atlantic Ocean is an obstacle—
so here’s to the love that time won’t spend.
The good thing is
there will never be let-downs
or petty arguments,
when we can just exist.