Nodding off, you told me the whitest lie.
It's not you, it's the things you do to me.
And ever since I've had an old you in my head that I can barely make out.
And the same punch line when I'm holding you in bed.
We hardly ever make out.
You're cross with me, I'm longing for you.
I floss my sweater teeth to brush off your excuse.
In fact, I've lost them all in all my dreams of you.
How does that make you feel?
How do I rub you the wrong way?