The dog-eared Disprin, in your handbag A gathering of crumbs and, twenty fags I'd steal some chewing gum, a few stray coins I'm sure you noticed but didn't much mind
Here I am, in the condiment aisle I'm worried about my basil from Israel and new world wine I need to lose these poses, reset my charms To when I left the factory in your arms
But the words on the page start to swim As light catches your face you're smiling This must be what all the fuss is about
You're trying to talk to me, all grateful and smiles I'm glued to the TV giving one word replies It's small and shameful it's a poor show Beat myself up on the way home and go crying to my girl
But the words on the page start to swim As light catches your face you're smiling This must be what all the fuss is about X2