Lyrics

I think I'm in love But I've been feeling otherwise These flutters in my stomach aren't butterflies But cutting knives and not the butter kind And if you listen close when she begins to speak You'll hear a couple hundred sighs And the collective shut of eyes Letters linger on her lips like lullabies I think I've drowned a couple times Inside her opal coloured eyes She could do something as simple as sit down With the grace of Olympic dives A perfect ten photo shutter finish on her cocoa butter thighs Catch her wearing loose pyjamas on a Sunday And she'd overshadow any supermodel on a runway When she wakes up in the morning She smells like vanilla essence And the bittersweet recollections of your adolescence Summer camp and piano lessons, and presents you got on birthdays Orange creamsicles and double plays on first base And walk past her in the halls And if your shoulders feel the slightest brush You might melt to liquid gold The lightest kind of Midas touch of Seen the way she drinks espresso during classes And reshapes a paper cup into an emerald-covered chalice Sugar packets pouring crystals, napkin origami cranes Gunning gorgeous glances to me through her Giorgio Armani frames She's nearly perfect in almost every way But she's got shit taste in movies Ask her for her favourite titles and she always likes to say She's down to go see anything by Shyamalan and Michael Bay Also, she's a psycho in the kitchen, it's a travesty What kind of fucking monster cooks their pasta in the microwave? And she does this thing when she corrects your grammar if it's wrong And clicks her tongue, and winks, and shoots a playful finger gun As if she's won some sorta contest Empress victor-of-a-conquest Mrs. Armchair Shrink Let me fix you with a comment Princess kick you when you're down Worshipper to a Godhead It seldom happens that she listens to my voice And doesn't chime in quick with unsolicited advice An unapologetic tyrant of passive-aggressive rivalry Ask her a question, and catch a handful of sass and irony And trust me, really She is just the worst at board games Debates about the rules like legislators at a court case Tampers with the scales of justice wielding pencils as her gavel Once I even caught her cheating while she kept the score in Scrabble She's a fucking wreck at checkers Plays Monopoly sloppily Always bringing up disputes in games of Trivial Pursuit Sucks at Battleship and Risk She fights better hand-to-hand And don't even get me started 'bout how trash she is at Candy Land Like you can't-, like you can't be bad at that that game Yet you've, you'd lose all the time It doesn't make any sense But I'm no adonise either Fashion sense abysmal, I've got two Nirvana T-shirts That I wear to formal outings And I've never owned a cardigan Catch me buyin' cargo pants at Target from the bargain bin Drink milk straight out the carton Use my hands to scoop out margarine Breakfast table etiquette makes up our morning arguments And I'm not a glass half full kinda guy Shipwrecked, flags half-mast hull kinda guy I never was an optimist, not too good at compromise The problem is my ego's far too fragile to apologize But she always calls me out And takes me down a couple pegs too It's always nice to have somebody close who double-checks you And honestly, we wouldn't be ourselves if we were different Yeah, she's clumsy and I'm stupid Those are things that we can live with Being perfect's unrealistic Either way, I like our flaws The way I crack my knuckles often The obnoxious way she yawns The way I stutter when I flirt 'Cause I'm not very good with courtship The way she's gotta pee, the first ten minutes of a road trip How when she cuts her pancakes, it's in slices, not in squares The way my daily coffee intake is a crisis I'm aware the way I talk in crowded theatres The way she parks in parallel The way she goes through pints of Ben and Jerry's salted caramel
Writer(s): Shayan Afridi, Cory Waddell Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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