Why must I feel numb, done what I've done
I've taken my cues, what I'm supposed to do
Now here's the issue, the narrative stew
When I hold the pen, it's throttling you
You never liked me when drunk
I start to believe you never liked me at all
So I agree, and I'll say "Fuck you"
'Cause I know if I don't, I'll probably say
Something stupid and true
I stand just out of reach of your fist
And take myself away again, pretty slim
And dance around the subject of figure of eight
Describe all the parts of me I'm yet to break
Count all the parts of me I'm yet to break
Count all the parts of me I'm yet to break you
Kiss me like it was your job
So tender and carefully, teeth before tongue (I wanna be yours)
Not in the way that the romantics do (I wanna be yours)
But with the grace of a workplace and child dispute
You know, I don't need much more
But wanna be mine, wanna be yours
You know, I don't need much more
I wanna be mine, wanna be yours
I take you for granted
Because the alternative's far more alarming
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