When they ask the question why,
and they look into our eyes,
when we tell it to them straight
with our hearts in our mouths.
Love can cross an ocean,
its borders ill-defined
and we'll stain the waters red
with the blood of mankind,
to find each others' bed.
Is it beetroots, Mrs Schrute,
or an abstract of ideas,
we harvested our taco love
with shells of tortillas.
Love can cross an ocean,
this depth of purgatory,
and we'll stain the waters red
with the blood of insanity,
to reach each others' bed.
When dreaming is no more,
the destination here,
the horizon of our life
together will be near.
Love can cross an ocean,
on transatlantic flights,
and we'll stain the waters red
with the blood of fading nights
to say what must be said.
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