Never Settle for Anything Less Than Butterflies

Eight hundred and fifty seven days
grueling practices, sweet perspiration
The hands won't stop drawing after two minutes and thirty seconds
Pass these same damn problems for miles
Take out your fake hair,
slip out of your spikes.
Bandage up those barb wire bruises and move on.
Two trains and a cab to see you
for eighteen hours
But I will put it all on the mat for you,
my ending pass.
And I know you'd chase me, too.
Eight hundred and fifty seven days
But buy me a calendar every year
So I can keep counting my blessings
But I will not count my love for you
by the hours or the months
But by the times I cut your hair in the kitchen
by the hundreds of miles of train tracks
I would walk on to hear your voice
First thing in the morning.
By the tragic mistakes I've made,
and your unending forgiveness
By the number of times I've cried and
you've consoled me
by the number of t-shirts I've snuck
to feel you against me.
eight hundred and fifty seven days
is a lot of days to be counting,
but I'm counting on something else, honey,
I'm counting on you.