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Days Of The Week
It's Monday morning and the coffee's on the brill
The sun's a warning, sending signals to the moon
I rise and fall in my accustomed rusted habits
I cant believe myself
And I can hardly stand it anymore
It's Tuesday morning
I file my nails and wash my hair
You're still sleeping like I'm hardly even there
The smell of tangerines are floating through the window
I wonder if someday I'll turn into your widow or your maid
It's Wednesday morning
I think you may have tried to cheat
I smell the perfume on the inside of your sleeve
I must admit I know I can be uite obsessive
I get dramatic and I'm ready to confess it to the Lord
It's Thursday morning
I could be pregnant; could be bored
I want to love you
I want to be the staple sword
We might be out of soap or real communication
And all the tricks my little brain plays on my nerves
They need to end
It's Friday morning
Thank God the weekend's almost here
Let's get some breakfast and get far away from here
So I can tell you that I am a secret agent
Who's stationed in a small hotel in Southeast Asia
But that's a lie, you know I've never even been there
I tend to get real bold with my own head and try to make you game
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I tend to get real bold with my own head and try to make you game
But that's a lie, you know I've never even been there
Who's stationed in a small hotel in Southeast Asia
So I can tell you that I am a secret agent
Let's get some breakfast and get far away from here
Thank God the weekend's almost here
It's Friday morning
They need to end
And all the tricks my little brain plays on my nerves
We might be out of soap or real communication
I want to be the staple sword
I want to love you
I could be pregnant; could be bored
It's Thursday morning
I get dramatic and I'm ready to confess it to the Lord
I must admit I know I can be uite obsessive
I smell the perfume on the inside of your sleeve
I think you may have tried to cheat
It's Wednesday morning
I wonder if someday I'll turn into your widow or your maid
The smell of tangerines are floating through the window
You're still sleeping like I'm hardly even there
I file my nails and wash my hair
It's Tuesday morning
And I can hardly stand it anymore
I cant believe myself
I rise and fall in my accustomed rusted habits
The sun's a warning, sending signals to the moon
It's Monday morning and the coffee's on the brill
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