she's caring less and lessfor all the people at her work
unbuttoning her shirt
she breathes and shuts her eyes
watches the light
make all the little
white blood cells
float across her eyes
pushes on the door
all her weight behind her toes
sends power to the globes
throws her keys down and clears her throat
watches them slide into the phone
before she gets the guts to go
help i've fucked this up
i'm a storm in a t-shirt
if we made this up
would all the good parts still work
he can notice rust
on the ringlets of his shoes
and yet he seems to lose
the detail in the way she likes to lean
on the seams of his jeans
until she gets the urge to move
it's a hot debate that always centres on
the lyrics to their song
and if he's talking 'bout the one that goes
to all the shows and how he knows
she's going to do his head in
when he sings i've fucked this up
i'm a storm in a t-shirt
if we made this up
would all the good parts still work
help i've fucked this up
i'm a storm in a t-shirt
if we made this up
would all the good parts still work
so i fucked this up
i'm a friend not a teacher
and so i made this up
didn't all the good parts still work
