She cooks you sweet potato you don’t like aubergine
She knows to boil the kettle when you hum bars from grease
She senses you are lonely but still she can’t be sure
And so she stands and waits, stands anticipating
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you
He brushes thoroughly
He know she likes fresh breath
He rushes to the station
He waits atop the steps
He’s brought with him a mars bar
She will not buy nestle
And later he’ll perform
A love-lorn serenade, a trade
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you
How can she become the psychic that she longs to be to understand you
So give her information to help her fill the holes
Give an ounce of power so he does not feel controlled
Help her to acknowledge the pain that you are in
Give to him a glimpse of that beneath your skin
Now my inner dialogue is heaving with detest
I am a martyr and a victim and I need to be caressed
I hate that you negate me, I’m a ghost at beck and call
I’m falling and placating, and berating myself for staying
I’m a fool
I’m a fool
He greets his stranger meekly a thing that she accepts
She sees him waiting often with chocolate on the steps
He senses she is lonely she’s glad they finally met
They take each other’s hands walk into the sunset
Do you like sweet potato?
