I've got a case of the stares like you wouldn't believe.
Everyone moves around with me,
I try to focus but I can't keep still
And since you're kind I think you will.
I got a spat of attention
Every urge on that swing turns tradgically free.
There's nothing more attractive like the thing you can't have.
I've got every intention of loosing my tie,
From the motivation to make this man mine.
I think I'm going to be sick More from Jenny Owen Youngs