A forest of thorns shall be his tomb! Borne through the skies on a fog of doom! Now go with the curse, and serve me well! 'Round Stefan's castle, CAST MY SPELL!
'Cause we were like, "woaaaah.", and I was like, "woaaaah." and you were like, "woaaahh..."
Now, father, you're living in the past. This is the 14th century!
I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine and he shall be my Squishy. Come on, Squishy. Come on, little Squishy.
- It looks awful.
- That's because it's on you, dear.
Just keep swimming.