When I was 8 years old,
before puberty took hold,
I thought I'd end up beside a princess bride,
and love was indivisible.
Never mind how my taste reflects
a disturbing Oedipal complex.
It's not awkward, girl,
the compliments are coming next.
You're no witch, you're no wench.
You're like Bjork with better fashion sense.
A phone; 50 cents,
and I'm building up my confidence.
Respect to your work,
you're an artist; I'm a silly jerk.
I think that dynamic could work,
so work it.
I have a total crush on you, baby,
and I can't let it go, oh no.
I have a total crush on you, baby.
Baby, if only I could let you know.
When we spoke, no joke,
I started shedding slutty girls,
like snake skin. My collection,
acquired through shallow misdirection.
And as I try tonight,
the west coast sky is daring me to try.
I feel alive tonight;
possibility that I'm your guy.
Though, I suffer from dyslexia
and mild manorexia.
And my hair cannot commit
to one popular genre of music.
And though they all claim
that a girl can't take the boys last name
in the divorce, then it's strange.
I'm counting on you.
I have a total crush on you, baby,
and I can't let it go, oh no.
I have a total crush on you, baby.
Baby, if only I could.
Your other suitors are no poets,
they're only actors who can play guitar;
Have I won your heart?
They're not suited towards screen-writers,
they're only models that they taught to read,
of which you agree.
Yea! Alright,
I have a total crush on you, baby,
and I can't let it go, oh no.
I have a total crush on you, baby.
Baby, if only I could.
Quite sure you love me, Sherri.
Quite sure I love you too.
We should make a verbal agreement
to only kiss each other.
Because one time,
beneath the sky,
outside my New York pig-sty,
I saw a vision of you and I.
Ha ha!
Did it hurt?
Did it hurt?
Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, girl.
Did it hurt?
Did it hurt?
Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, girl.
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