They met at a wedding she crashed for the wine,
He spilled on her dress, said “You’re ruining mine.”
Three months later they married in June,
With doves and a priest and a honeymoon cruise.
She moved to his mansion, a house by the shore,
With spiral staircases and rumors galore.
She painted the walls like a circus parade,
The neighbors complained, but they never got paid.
Oh, she was a wild card, he was a straight line,
She brought the thunder, he brought the wine.
But when he dropped dead from a heart attack sigh,
The bride, oh the bride, she lost her damn mind.

She wore her old veil to the grocery store,
Talked to the roses and danced on the floor.
She threw a tea party for ghosts in the hall,
With a stuffed armadillo and portraits on call.
They said she was cursed, or just too well-read,
That she braided her hair with the thoughts in her head.
She auctioned his watch to a pirate online,
Then built a gold statue and called it “He’s Mine.”

Oh, she was a firework, he was a fire code,
She lit up the town and then watched it explode.
When he croaked mid-toast with a vintage red wine,
The bride, oh the bride, she lost her damn mind.

Now every July, on the date he expired,
She sets off the sprinklers and calls it “The Fire.”
The cops just ignore her, the town’s made their peace,
They know she’s just dancing with her missing piece.
She rewrote his will in invisible ink,
Put her cat in a suit and named it “The Shrink.”
They say love can kill you well maybe that’s true,
But it might drive your widow to paint the sky blue.

She was the chaos, he was the calm,
She took his last breath and stitched it in balm.
Now the house throws parties at quarter past nine,
Where the bride, oh the bride, is out of her mind.
And if you pass by, you might hear her hum,
A love song for two, now a solo with drums.
She lost her dear husband, she’s lost track of time
But gained a good story and a bottle of wine.

We were twenty and reckless kids,
told the moon our secrets under eyelash lids.
Your hand found mine in the parking lot glow,
you laughed at my shoes full of sand and hope.
You showed me colors I’d never seen,
painted my gray sky tangerine.
A beat-up car, the ocean wide
we made the whole world small inside.

We were just a rooftop constellation,
counting stars on borrowed time.
You were my teenage revelation,
softest truth I’d ever find.
We didn’t need a reason why
your name was freedom in my mind.
A first love written in the night,
I still see it when I close my eyes.

Remember the ceiling of that old building?
You traced my dreams like a carousel spinning.
Salt on your lips, the windows down,
a secret kingdom in a seaside town.
We learned the language of stolen nights,
heartbeat verses under porch light fights.
No one told us how fast it goes
one day you stay, one day you’re a ghost.

We were just a rooftop constellation,
counting stars on borrowed time.
You were my twenty-something revelation,
softest truth I’d ever find.
We didn’t need a reason why
your name was freedom in my mind.
A first love written in the night,
I still see it when I close my eyes.

I still taste the salt, still hear the waves,
still feel your jacket when the night misbehaves.
No regrets, no bitter lines
just echoes dancing on the power lines.

We were just a rooftop constellation,
burned so bright we lit the sky.
You were my summer incantation,
a spark that never really dies.
And if you’re somewhere chasing dawn
I hope you know you’re never gone.
A first love written in the night,
I still see it when I close my eyes.

They said he stayed out late at the bar,
cheap cologne and a half-lit cigar.
His ring left cold on the backseat floor,
and a secret nobody’s asking for.
Her sister called her at 12:09,
voice like whiskey, fear in the line.
Said, “If I don’t make it back by dawn,
look for me where the cheap lights are on…”

No trace, no blame,
just a crooked little smile.
A red kiss print on an empty glass,
and guilt stitched tight in a cotton plaid.
No trace, no blame,
she learned to lie with a steady eye.
He swears he don’t know where she lies

Detective stares through the kitchen steam,
she stirs cold coffee and half a dream.
Says she don’t swim in no muddy tide,
got nothing to hide but a sharpened pride.
Mothers whisper down neon roads,
small town secrets and late-night oaths.
If they come knocking at the station door,
she’s gone and she don’t live here no more.

No trace, no blame,
just a crooked little smile.
A red kiss print on an empty glass,
and guilt stitched tight in a cotton plaid.
No trace, no blame,
she learned to lie with a steady eye.
He swears he don’t know where she lies

When they drag the lake at the break of dawn,
all they’ll find is a ghost and a song.
No confession, no tear to dry,
just a name crossed out on a lullaby.

No trace, no blame,
just laughter under the rain.
A rumor tangled in windowpanes,
and lipstick sealing what won’t remain.
No trace, no blame,
just her glass left high and dry.
A toast for what she’ll never deny.

I keep your ghost inside my coat,
A broken vow, a hollow oath.
Your shadow sleeps beneath my bed,
Your lies still echo in my head.
You’re the wound I never stitch,
The wish I make that never sticks.

You’re my lost cause, my quiet curse,
My sweetest ache, my deepest hurt.
You’re the truth I never hold,
The cruelest story I’ve been told.

You left your mark behind my eyes,
A brand of love that never dies.
Your faithless touch still haunts my skin,
I lose, I break, yet let you in.
You’re the ruin that I trust,
The holy lie I turn to dust.

You’re my lost cause, my quiet curse,
My sweetest ache, my deepest hurt.
You’re the truth I never hold,
The cruelest story I’ve been told.

So here’s to every wasted tear,
To every promise drowned in fear.
I’d wear your hate like wedding lace,
I’d drink your poison, just in case.
You’re my hoax, my whispered sin,
The bitter end I’d die to win.
I’ll keep your ghost inside my coat,
A broken vow, a hollow oath.

In a quiet town by the ocean’s edge
You learned too young how to live with less
When the world took him, you packed your pain
Tied your hope to a ship and a stranger’s name

You crossed those waters with empty hands
Built a life from dirt, made a promised land
With a heart that broke but never closed
You gave us more than you ever chose

And I hear you in the kitchen light
In the hum of the porch on a summer night
Every warm embrace, every tear you dried
You gave it all, never asked why
Your love still grows, your love still grows

You held your babies close to your chest
Sewed their dreams in a homemade dress
When I came along you were waiting there
With your gentle hands and your silver hair
You’d press a coin in my little hand
Say, Take what you need, and understand,
Love’s not measured in what you own,
It’s in how you give and how you grow.

And I hear you in the kitchen light
In the hum of the porch on a summer night
Every warm embrace, every tear you dried
You gave it all, never asked why
Your love still grows, your love still grows

If I could ask you one more thing
Would you teach me how to brave the wind?
How to lose and still begin
How to stand up tall again?

So I keep you in my beating heart
A compass home when the world’s too dark
In my voice when I sing so low
Your love still grows, your love still grows.

They say there’s a witch in the window,
keeps her curtains drawn at dawn.
They whisper she curses the garden,
turns good men into ghosts when they’re gone.
They say she pours poison in teacups,
paints her mouth with cherry lies.
No one remembers who wronged her first
just the gleam of revenge in her eyes.

She’s the storm they call insane,
the fire they can’t contain.
They’ll say she’s cruel, they’ll say she’s vile,
but she’s just smiling all the while.
A mad woman, that’s what they claim
but she’s the spark inside the flame.
Call her sinner, call her saint
she’s the witch in the window frame.

She writes her secrets on matches,
lights them up when the night runs cold.
She laughs when they gather in churches,
spinning stories they’ve all been told.
She keeps their rumors in bottles,
lined up neat on a dusty shelf.
Every lie they fed her for dinner
now she feeds it back herself.

She’s the storm they call insane,
the fire they can’t contain.
They’ll say she’s cruel, they’ll say she’s vile,
but she’s just smiling all the while.
A mad woman, that’s what they claim
but she’s the spark inside the flame.
Call her sinner, call her saint
she’s the witch in the window frame.

No pitchfork, no rope, no gallows tall
can break the curse they built so small.
They named her monster, they named her wrong
she wears their fear like her favorite song.

She’s the storm they call insane,
the fire they can’t contain.
They’ll say she’s cruel, they’ll say she’s vile,
but she’s just smiling all the while.
A mad woman, that’s what they claim
but she’s the spark inside the flame.
Let them kneel, let them pray
she’s the witch they couldn’t slay.

She keeps her secrets in a leather case,
photos fading like her old mistakes.
Coffee stains on motel sheets,
a map of nowhere under her feet.

She’s got a postcard from a lover’s town,
wrote “wish you were here” then turned around.
Her shadow’s taller than her past,
she drives too fast to make it last.
They call her reckless, they call her free,
but she’s just chasing who she used to be.

She’s a ghost in the rearview,
a name in the night,
a half-told story under dashboard light.
She’s got one more song for the road to strum
you’ll find her where the highways hum.

She wears her heartbreak like a thrift store coat,
patches stitched with every note.
She leaves a lighter in your glovebox tray,
so you remember she never stays.
Sometimes she dreams of a porch light warm,
a window glowing through a thunderstorm.
But when the dawn breaks, she’s miles gone,
new town, new ghost to lean upon.
They call her lonely, they call her wise,
but she’s just a flicker in borrowed skies.

She’s a ghost in the rearview,
a name in the night,
a half-told story under dashboard light.
She’s got one more song for the road to strum
you’ll find her where the highways hum.

Maybe one day she’ll stay for good,
plant her name deep in the neighborhood.
But tonight she’s just the highway’s hum,
a promise whispered and then she’s gone.

She’s a ghost in the rearview,
a name in the night,
a half-told story under dashboard light.
She’s got one more song for the road to strum
you’ll find her where the highways hum.
Yeah, you’ll find her where the highways hum.

Cool breeze and your scarf on my chair
Empty streets and that light in your stare
You laughed like you meant it
I guess I believed it
And I still feel the weight of that silence
September came and changed the climate
But you were never mine

I can see us walking through shadows
September fading like a flame I followed
It was never real
And I remember your touch turning colder
September passed and I couldn’t hold her
She was never mine
No, she was never mine

Your name still shows on my phone
Thought you’d call when you made it back home
You said: “Let’s not define it”
But I still tried to find it
Now I’m just a note in your story
September left without warning
And you were never mine

I can see us walking through shadows
September fading like a flame I followed
It was never real
And I remember your touch turning colder
September passed and I couldn’t hold her
She was never mine
No, no, she was never mine

I skipped sleep just to see you
Made excuses just to need you
Told myself this was fate
But I knew I was too late
I gave all I had in those nights
You were gone before the light
Finally I can see us walking through shadows
September fading like a flame I followed
It was never real

And I remember your touch turning colder
September passed and I couldn’t hold her
She was never mine
No, she was never mine
You were never mine to lose
But I still remember you
In the September sky

It was Monday morning, the clock struck eight,
Bartholomew spilled coffee on his laptop plate.
He said, “That’s it, I’m done with this scene
No more spreadsheets, I’m chasing a dream!”
He wore his tie like a superhero cape,
Took the elevator to a bold escape.
Told his boss, “I need something more!”
Then moonwalked out through the office door.

Lord, oh Bartholomew, the office renegade,
Traded PowerPoint for a grand parade.
He chased a fax through the mountain mist,
Fought a printer that refused to exist.
Oh Bartholomew, with stapler in hand,
He brought back joy to a paperless land.
Mondays won’t be dull again,
Thanks to Bartholomew… and his ballpoint pen!

He tamed wild keyboards in the breakroom den,
Met lost interns who thought it was 2010, 
He slayed a scanner with a laser mouse,
Then built a boat out of memos and doubts.
He crossed the sea of budget charts,
With sticky notes shaped like broken hearts.
He climbed a mountain of HR forms,
And yelled, “I QUIT!… just kidding, stay warm.”

Oh Bartholomew, the spreadsheet slayer,
Turned paperclips into dragon-sprayers.
He danced with risk, he fought with flair,
He even beat a meeting chair!

Oh Bartholomew, now legend and lore,
The breakroom tells what he fought for:
Hope, caffeine, and casual wear
And Fridays off, if you dare.
Now every Monday, folks gather near,
To hear the tale with donuts and cheer.
And somewhere out past the office gate,
Bartholomew is out there… probably running late.

Oh Bartholomew, our myth, our guy in slacks,
He turned resigning into wisecracks.
The cubicles whisper his name with pride
“He Ctrl+Alt+Deleted corporate life!”

So raise your mugs, give Bartholomew a cheer,
For making Mondays the best day of the year!