Poeticism as an Extrinsic Finality

No, I
I j-
No, I just think
Yeah, no
But I —
Would you shut the fuck up I just have something to tell you, alright?
God damnit
Fucking shit
Uh, just Listen
Went down to the bar and started spinning a yarn
I saw you standing wide with your city-girl charm
I asked you for your name and then you did the same
I replied Johnny C., you implied Mary Jane
We took off in my daddy’s truck and took the back lane
I don’t know why you did it, but you eased most of my pain
I looked inside your soul and hoped for you I’d done the same
I took your hand in mine you said I look like John Wayne
And then I knew, someday I’d marry you
When a church in a backyard free of pain and heavily scarred
Whether it’s easy or it’s hard
Whether you cook with butter or lard
Whether you like Kirk or Picard
Or even if you hate Pulp Fiction
And everything I said I swear I say with the utmost conviction
There’s nothing you could do that wouldn’t fit inside my description
Of the angel I know you are, my evangelical prescription
I know it’s lame
But the song’s about you
But if it’s all the same
I swear it’s fucking true
There ain’t a fucking thang
I wouldn’t do if it’s for you
But I could never say this
So for now, for now I guessed I’m doomed
What are you talking about? None of this shit ever happened
It’s a fucking metaphor, god