Share my bed; we don’t have to count sheep.
Just stay up and talk so there’s no time for sleep.
It’s only big enough for 1 of us, so lay across me calm.
Can you feel my hand shake as you grip my palm?
We should be just friends but tonight is different.
It’s strange how time can alter the frequent.
I don’t like the way I’m looking at you of late.
Cos I’ve always been a sceptic of love and fate.
Pessimists give way to an optimistic thought,
It’s the only irony that cannot be taught,
Unlike the lucid dreaming of insomniacs,
A castle collapsing without an attack,
Or A broken watch, that’s time is right,
A young librarian who’s lost her sight,
Or a story teller who’s literally lost the plot,
You won’t like this, but you, friend, are all I’ve got.
The problem is, is that we’re just magnets,
As we lie beneath the blankets,
When we’re so close we can’t be parted.
But it can’t end if we never started,
And if you turn and repel we’d both be liberated.
And to do that we’d never be conjugated.
And then we’d both lay there empty and deflated.
Tell me baby, are these feelings just over-rated?
Share my bed; your scent has left me still.
I’m trying to resist this, but I’m losing my will.
The blanket barely covers me, I don’t want you to freeze,
I already had goose bumps, when your leg met my knees.
You look so peaceful, eyes resting for minute,
I know this will end badly, you’ve pushed me to my limit,
Doing nothing and I’m falling and that’s what I hate.
Cos I’ve always been a sceptic of love and fate.
Pessimists give way to an optimistic thought,
It’s the only irony that cannot be bought,
Unlike the lucid dreaming of insomniacs,
A castle collapsing without an attack,
Or A broken watch, that’s time is right,
A young librarian who’s lost her sight,
Or a story teller, who’s literally lost the plot,
You won’t like this, Darling, but you’re all I’ve got.
Pessimists give way to an optimistic thought,
It’s the only irony that cannot be taught,
Unlike the lucid dreaming of insomniacs,
A castle collapsing without an attack,
A broken watch, that’s time is right,
A young librarian who’s lost her sight,
Or a story teller who’s lost the plot,
You won’t like this, lover, but you’re all I’ve got.
The problem is, is that we’re just magnets,
As we lie beneath the blankets,
When we’re so close we can’t be parted.
But it can’t end if it never started,
And if you turn and repel we’d both be liberated.
And to do that we’d never be conjugated.
And then we’d both lay there empty and deflated.
Tell me baby are these feelings really over-rated?
