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?