|
It's Monday morning and the coffee's on the brill |
|
The sun's a warning, sending signals to the moon |
|
I rise and fall in my accustomed rusted habits |
|
I cant believe myself |
|
And I can hardly stand it anymore |
|
It's Tuesday morning |
|
I file my nails and wash my hair |
|
You're still sleeping like |
|
I'm hardly even there |
|
The smell of tangerines are floating through the window |
|
I wonder if someday |
|
I'll turn into your widow or your maid |
|
It's Wednesday morning |
|
I think you may have tried to cheat |
|
I smell the perfume on the inside of your sleeve |
|
I must admit |
|
I know I can be uite obsessive |
|
I get dramatic and |
|
I'm ready to confess it to the lord |
|
It's Thursday morning |
|
I could be pregnant; could be bored |
|
I want to love you |
|
I want to be the staple sword |
|
We might be out of soap or real communication |
|
And all the tricks my little brain plays on my nerves |
|
They need to end |
|
It's Friday morning |
|
Thank god the weekend's almost here |
|
Let's get some breakfast and get far away from here |
|
So I can tell you that |
|
I am a secret agent |
|
Who's stationed in a small hotel in |
|
Southeast |
|
Asia But that's a lie, you know |
|
I've never even been there |
|
I tend to get real bored with my own head and try to make you care. |
