God,
You owe me.
Because you know me,
And you know what I am made of.
You sit above me,
And I know that you love me,
But also that I need a hug.
So hand it over,
Let Mom and I join.
It’s the point of this here drama.
You can’t stop it, or drop it or cop it at all.
I won’t even use your damn comma.
Just marry me to The Madonna.