To Have and to Hold, Maya Montena

A word can hurt when it calls from the past

It echoes through my memory over again.

“That would be a Fag wedding, wouldn’t it?”

Light me up and I’ll glow orange embers.

It echoes through my memory over again.

I didn’t feel the burn because I didn’t know.

Light me up and I’ll glow orange embers.

Discard the butt on the blacktop, you French fuck!

I didn’t feel the burn because I didn’t know

yet that we were indeed Faggots.

Discard the butt on the blacktop, you French fuck!

Soon you’ll know the truth.

We were indeed Faggots.

For each other for a while, then apart, then together again.

Soon you’ll know the truth.

The playground wedding was all you would get.

For each other for a while, then apart, then together again.

We would always be gay in our Faggotry.

The playground wedding was all you would get.

But still, we always wonder shamelessly,

“That would be a Fag wedding, wouldn’t it?”