What is Mine
He’s trying to take what is mine.
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine, she’s not mine.
In time she’ll be mine.
On oysters and wine.
We’ll sip from the glass made of crystal and sand. The beach?
We’ll swim in the beach and wine when we dine on the day she is mine.
I’ll place on her head. A gown made of bread where we’ll waltz till we’re dead.
No worry of mind,
No rushing of time,
Her gown made of bread with a crown on her head.
A waltz we will dance while we sip on our wine,
And the day that she’s dead is the day she’ll be mine.