You tell me you don't like the way I comb my hair
But there are two of us at this table only one of us doesn't care
Your so engrossed in what you read and your not really there
Can tell you all my troubles and all you say is yeah, yeah, yeah
Televisions off tonight and I heard somebody cry outside
Smells of spring are everywhere getting mixed up with my own
All those songs about burning houses is giving me idea's
If I hear those words once more I'll pour the petrol on the floor